


Switchblade

by zsomeone



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Skinny Steve, bucky has both arms, no serum or superheros, nobody was military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone
Summary: Other characters without enough “screen time” to rate a tag: Jack Rollins, Brock Rumlow, Jasper Sitwell, Rebecca Barnes, Clint Barton, Luis (Ant-Man)Steve and Bucky are roommates on hard times.  While celebrating Steve’s birthday, they run into a former buddy, Sam, who has a plan that could solve all of their money problems while at the same time getting revenge on the guy who sent Bucky (and many others) to jail.Setting based on when I lived in AZ in the early 90's (actual towns here are fictional), because it doesn’t work as well in modern day.  Technology, man.





	Switchblade

**Author's Note:**

> Addition shit not worth making actual tags for: Steve doesn't give a fuck about your language, Sam is a bad influence but a good guy, Steve and Bucky have a pretty high alcohol tolerance for no reason, drug running, superhero comic books exist in this but are just fiction, Steve pretty much just has asthma here because modern medicine, unnamed characters aren’t anyone you know

Steve pulled into the driveway and let the dust settle before getting out of the car. He was one of the lucky ones whose asthma has improved a lot with age but he was still careful, though more out of habit than necessity on most days. The sun shone was already bright, it would be really hot again later, but it wasn’t too bad yet.  
Bucky had already left for work, as usual. And had forgotten to lock the door again, Steve discovered, not that they really had anything worth stealing. Didn’t really matter anyway, it was less than an hour from when Bucky left until Steve got home.

This was Steve’s third week since switching to the overnight shift at the convenience store, and the schedule was working out really well for both of them so far. He’d completely adjusted to his new sleep schedule now, and preferred working during the cooler hours.  
And it also solved the problem of who slept where, since their lone bed was too small to share and the couch was old and lumpy. They’d been taking turns, but the new schedule let them both sleep on the bed, so they both slept much better.

Also, far less customers during these hours meant he was a lot less likely to get fired again. Steve had lost his last job, and some others in the past, due to his trouble with keeping his mouth shut in certain situations.  
“The customer is _not_ always right, but you are not allowed to tell them that,” Bucky had reminded him more than once.  
He’d always had trouble overlooking certain behaviors, if the customer was an asshole to other people it was an huge effort not to call them out, and sometimes he just couldn’t restrain himself. And then they complained to his manager.

Steve locked the door, more out of habit than any actual necessity, and dropped his keys on the desk. This place was a shack really, but rent was pretty cheap. The trailer they’d lived in before had been really nice, almost new, and they’d each had their own rooms and furniture. But after Bucky got arrested, the rent was more than Steve could make on his own and he’d had to move, taking only what little would fit in the new place, selling what he could and losing the rest.  
Some of their stuff was still in boxes in the corner of the living room because there was nowhere else to put it. The couch, crappy coffee table, and Steve’s desk took up most of the space. Their small tv sat on the edge of the desk.

They were planning to move again when they could afford to, get a bigger place again, but Bucky had been having some trouble finding and keeping jobs. Even in this town, people were leery of hiring someone fresh out of jail on drug charges. Bucky didn’t even do drugs, not really, he’d just been sometimes running them for the money. Then the guy he was with the last time had split and left him holding the bag, literally. Some asshole named Jack Rollins, Steve had only actually met him a couple times but he’d heard plenty. And as far as he knew, Jack had gotten away clean, that just wasn’t fair.

Yawning, Steve rinsed out the coffee pot and refilled it for when he woke up, Bucky must have been running late again, he usually did that. Not a big deal though.  
The bedroom window panes were covered with foil in an attempt to keep the room cooler, Steve wasn’t sure it made much difference but it did keep the sun out if nothing else, and day sleeping was a lot easier in a darkened room.  
It wasn’t too hot to fall asleep yet, but it would be soon. Steve stripped to his boxers, turned on the box fan that was raised on a couple boxes and pointed at the bed, then sprawled out to get some sleep while he could. 

*****

When he woke hours later, the air was hot and oppressive. Steve pulled on some shorts but didn’t bother with a shirt, no point, too fucking hot. He started the coffee and checked the fridge, but oh right they were out of food again, nothing in there but some beer and a handful of condiment packets. Oh well, Bucky would grab something for them after work, again. It was almost 2pm, so he had a little time before then. Maybe he could finish the dog portrait he’d been working on, rent was due soon and that would help. Sketch was finished, all he needed to do was color it. The dog was entirely brown, a labrador or something pretty similar, and this was just a head portrait, so not too hard.

He’d put fliers with samples of his artwork and number around town, but it was extremely rare that anyone called. And the ones who did, it usually turned out that most of those wanted him to paint their house instead.  
Steve would have been willing, but he had to be careful about exerting himself too much, especially when it was hot or dusty. Fumes were a very real potential problem as well. He’d passed one of those calls off to Bucky when he happened to be between jobs at the time, the guy didn’t care, just wanted someone to paint his house cheap. Any money helped, they seemed to be always coming up short.

This dog would get him $50, that was pretty good. Actual paints weren’t in the budget currently, but Steve had a decent set of old pastels that were almost as good. Bucky didn’t like him using them because of all the dust, but art supplies had never bothered him somehow.  
He grabbed the rig he used for an easel from under the desk and set it up, he’d built it out of scrap wood picked from a construction site. Though most of the time he usually preferred to work on a flat surface, you just couldn’t do that with pastels.  
Coffee ready, Steve got to work.

Around an hour later he had finished. After carefully brushing it and applying a layer of fixative, there was nothing more to do but let it dry and deliver it tomorrow.  
It wasn’t much longer before Bucky came in, carrying a Sonic bag which he dropped on the coffee table, then checked out the portrait, “Damn, that turned out great!”  
Steve grinned, “Yeah, I’ll go deliver it tomorrow when I wake up, then get some groceries. She agreed to pay cash.”

They sat on the couch and divided up the food, they ate a lot of Sonic because it was close to the garage Bucky was currently working at. He walked, Steve had argued about that some, but they only had Steve’s crappy old car and his job was farther away, _and_ he had asthma, so Bucky won that one and insisted on walking to his. It really wasn’t all that far anyway.  
They had a few beers and watched some tv, Steve didn’t have to be at work til 11pm, and all he needed to do before that was shower.

“Hey I have to meet with Officer Peggy tomorrow, want to come with me? Pretty sure she’s sweet on you.” Peggy Carter was Bucky’s probation officer, who he knew Steve had a huge crush on.  
“Why would she even look at me with you around?” Peggy was like the sun, he just wanted to orbit her, or... he should probably stick to art. She was amazing though, and also really pretty.  
“I know when someone’s into me, and she’s not. You, on the other hand...”  
“Stop!” Steve groaned but didn’t give in, “I’d just be in the way, no.”

Steve had originally tried to respectfully only call her Officer Carter and tried to convince Bucky to do the same, but Peggy herself had requested they just call her by her first name instead. It seemed somehow wrong to call her that, but more wrong not to do as she asked. He’d gotten used to it eventually, didn’t even think about it anymore.  
Bucky still called her Officer Peggy when talking to Steve just to mess with him.  
He didn’t bother denying his crush anymore either, not that he’d ever act on it, no matter how many times Bucky tried to encourage him to.

*****

“Steve, did you know it’s your birthday this weekend? We have to do something,” Bucky announced as he got home, as if he’d only just realized the date. Who knows, maybe he had.  
Steve snorted, “How could I ever possibly forget? But we can’t afford to do too much.”  
“I don’t care, it’s your birthday. And they gave us all Monday off, so no excuses.”  
“I don’t have Monday off, and you know I hate my birthday.”  
“You don’t have to be there til late, that’s no excuse.”

Steve put a frozen pizza in the oven, and they turned on the tv while they waited.  
Bucky was still trying to think of suggestions, “Maybe hit a casino?”  
“Hell no, I’d rather jump off a cliff.” Casinos were always crowded and stuffy.  
“No,” Bucky refused to even acknowledge Steve weird desire to go cliff diving.  
“Well you think of something else then.”

Steve just thought actual cliff diving would be fun, but there wasn’t any suitable place anywhere close anyway. He’d gone to Lake Mead as a kid with his mom, managed to slip away from her and had jumped where he saw the big kids jumping from. It wasn’t super high but had been worth it, even though his mom completely freaked out and forbid him from trying again.  
It had been like flying, briefly anyway. Hitting the water hurt a little.  
Skydiving had always sounded really fun too, but hadn’t mentioned that in years out of respect for Bucky.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Bucky elbowed him in the ribs, “let’s go to Mexico, we haven’t been down there in a while.”  
“We really can’t afford to...” but that did sound like a great idea.  
Bucky grinned, knowing they were going, “It’s not a long drive, and it’s your birthday, _and_ you always complain about how the whole county celebrates your birthday so let’s just leave the country.”  
Steve shrugged and gave in, smiling, that made perfect sense, “Yeah okay, sounds good.” They both had a few days off, plenty of time to go and to recover from it. And it should be fun.

*****

Bucky drove, knowing Steve preferred to look out the window if he had the choice. The landscape wasn’t all that inspiring at the moment, the colors dulled with the dust that coated everything, looking sun bleached and faded. The shapes of the plants and harshness of the shadows had a quality Steve had never been able to replicate in his drawings, though he’d tried.  
There was more traffic than usual, since it was a holiday weekend.  
As they passed through a small town, some children with sparklers were chasing each other around in a yard. Fireworks in general were illegal, but some stuff little was allowed.

“Maybe you should bring a camera next time, you sure like staring out the window,” Bucky pulled into a gas station, better to fill up now than worry about it later, “I’ll go pay, need anything?”  
“Photos aren’t the same, I can’t explain it,” he’d tried, photography had its own merit, but he’d been unable to capture the way these landscapes made him _feel_ , “I’m good, we’re not that far out now.”  
Steve got out and, when Bucky nodded to him from inside, pumped the gas. Then they were back on the road.

There was a town not far over the border that they’d been to a few times before, it was their destination again today. It was mostly a tourist trap, most of the border towns were, but the drinks were really cheap and there was always something entertaining going on. It took longer than usual to cross the border, because holiday, but they still got there at a reasonable time and headed straight for their favorite bar. When in Mexico, drink tequila. Or beer, but they tended to mostly stick to tequila, and didn't even bother with the whole salt and lime routine. It tasted fine, and both of them usually handled it well enough. Not everyone did, some people it just made crazy, everybody knew somebody like that.

There was a band playing nearby, the sun was bright and hot. They did a few shots to get started, then walked the street, weaving in and out of the shade, looking at everything on display. They paused for more shots, and grabbed some bottled water as well, knowing to be careful in this heat.  
“This time I’m really gonna take you to a donkey show,” Bucky announced, “It’s your birthday.”  
“Pretty sure they don’t have those, and no thanks anyway,” Bucky always suggested this, every time they were in Mexico, it had become something of a running joke, “What’s your deal with donkey shows anyway?”

Bucky snickered, “Come on, you know I’m just fucking with you. I don’t think I’d want to really see that either. If they’re even real? They probably have to be, somewhere, because there’s nothing I’d put past people.”  
“I think I’m happier not knowing for sure.” Steve was pleasantly drunk, and life was good, at least that’s how he felt at the moment. That’s why they came here, it was a break from their regular lives, a mini vacation. Open air, music, and easy drinks. Steve had an idea, the _best_ idea. Might just be the tequila talking, but he didn’t really care.

Apparently Bucky had an idea too, “There’s something I wanna get you, okay? Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”  
“It’s my birthday, I’ll be stupid if I want to!” Steve yelled after him, having already decided what he was going to do. It would be easier this way, they could argue about it afterwards instead.  
Once Bucky turned the corner, Steve headed across the street and went into the tattoo shop they’d just passed. They had a huge front window where everyone could see in, so Bucky would be able to find him again no problem.

It was the kind of place where you pretty much had to choose from the flash on the walls, but looked pretty clean at least. Steve knew what he wanted and of course it wasn’t on the wall, but they let him have a sheet of paper and he drew it up for them quickly. When he asked, they handed him a cup of markers and he put the colors on it.  
They had him take off his shirt, put the stencil on, then showed him in the mirror where he nodded his approval.  
The artist then motioned for him to straddle one of the chairs right in front of the window, then got to work.  
Turns out, tattoos hurt a little more than he’d expected.

The guy was still working when Steve spotted Bucky in the street, looking around for him. He waited, and then waved when Bucky turned his way, spotting him and then  
coming in.  
“Oh my god Steve, seriously?” Bucky checked it out. The tattoo was Captain America’s shield from the comic books, the artist was coloring it now, about palm sized, on his lower back. “You decided to get a tattoo in Mexico? What if it gets infected?”  
“You got yours in jail, shut up!”  
“Only one of them,” Bucky guiltily rubbed the outline of a star on his left shoulder, “the other one I got at the mall.”  
He rolled his eyes, “Because that’s _so_ much better.” 

Bucky waited, stood watching, until finally artist was done. Steve inspected the results in the mirror with a big smile. The guy must be at least somewhat familiar with the comics because he’d added lighter areas that made it look shiny, Steve hadn’t even tried to do that with the markers but definitely approved. It looked even better than he’d hoped for, a tattoo to be proud of.  
He put his shirt back on and paid the guy, then turned to Bucky, “I want more tequila now.”

They headed back over to the roadside bar they’d been at last and ordered more.  
“I got you a present,” Bucky handed over a small rolled up brown paper bag he’d had shoved in his back pocket, “and it’s 100% illegal at home, so try not to get caught with it.”  
Steve grinned at that and opened the bag to find a switchblade knife about the length of his hand, with a pearlized bright blue handle. He pressed the button and the blade shot out with a snick, “I love it! Thanks!” He pushed the blade back, then tried it a few more times. He examined the edge, it was really sharp and the steel looked like decent quality, yeah it was pretty sweet. He carefully put it in his front pocket.

They continued their wander, looping randomly back and forth across the street for a closer look at anything that caught their attention.  
Then they heard a voice, “Bucky fucking Barnes?! And Steve Rogers, holy shit, I haven’t seen you guys in years! How’ve you been?”  
“Sam fucking Wilson,” Bucky said with a grin, “Where’ve you been?”  
“Hey, Sam!” Steve added, they’d all hung out back in high school but it had been a while.  
“Well you know I moved away, but I came back to the old place a few months ago. What are you guys up to?” He fell in, walking with them, like old times.

“Steve got a tattoo.” Bucky pointed helpfully, drunk.  
Sam was curious, “Oh yeah really? What’d you get?”  
“Captain America’s shield,” Steve turned and proudly lifted his shirt to show him.  
“Damn, that looks great! Wanna see mine?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam pulled his t-shirt up and mostly off to show the tribal bird spanning his upper back, “It’s a falcon.”

Steve gasped, “I remember that! I drew that for you!”  
“Yep you sure did, and I really liked it. As you can see.” Sam pulled his shirt back down, “How about you, Bucky? Anything new? Since we’re sharing and all.”  
“Same old reaper I got back in high school,” he shrugged and pulled up his sleeve, “and a star I got in jail.”  
“Oh right, I heard something about that. Jack Rollins, right? That asshole’s been setting people up.”  
Bucky looked at him sharply, “Wait, really?” he’d thought it’d just been bad luck, “What do you know about this?”

“A lot I shouldn’t, that’s what. I’ve worked for them too, and I’ve overheard things. The big boss is actually a DEA agent named Sitwell, but the one you really have to watch out for is that crooked cop, Rumlow.”  
“Wait, Rumlow as in the state trooper Rumlow?”  
“Yep. He’s the one who busted you, right? Ever wonder how he knew exactly where to find you? Those three are the core team.” Sam grinned, “They have no idea I know, and I’m still working for them, but I’ve got a big plan.”

Steve was thinking, “I know who Sitwell is, he comes in the store sometimes. He’s a dirty fed? But he seems so boring!”  
“He doesn’t do any of the dirty work himself. Word on the street is the FBI might be getting suspicious, but as far as I know there’s none of them around. Not that I’ve heard at least, ” Sam shrugged.  
“Damn, I know Jack’s an asshole but I kind of thought we were friends.” Bucky had done several jobs with the guy, occasionally, in the past.  
“Oh he’s as crooked as they get, and ruthless because he knows he’s their fall guy if they ever run out of anyone else to blame. I wouldn’t agree to work with any of them at all if the money wasn’t so damn good.”

Steve understood that, about the money. Although he’d never been involved in any of that personally, Bucky’s little side jobs had gotten them out of a financial bind several times in the past. And until that last time when he’d been caught, it had seemed a pretty easy way to get extra cash when they needed it, so he’d never even really worried.  
He’d been tempted more than once himself, seemed like easy money, but knew he just wasn’t suited for those kind of jobs.  
And he knew Sam’s history, of course. Apparently not a whole lot had changed there.

They’d made it back around to their favorite bar, and the three of them sat at one of the patio tables, ordering more tequila. There was an umbrella for shade.  
Sam was already mostly drunk too, but of course joined in. “So Steve, still avoiding your birthday I see?”  
“You remember that?”  
“Hard to forget, Steve Rogers, born on the 4th of July. And besides, your new ink reminded me.”  
“Well _clearly_ I’ve decided to embrace it.” He did another shot, “Whatever, I put it where nobody’s going to see it unless I show them.”

Sam turned back to Bucky, “Hey man, so I was just thinking, there’s this big run coming up soon, whole lot of money involved. I mean _big_ money. Both Rumlow and Rollins on this one, I’m already in, you want in? They’re gonna want one more, I think I can get them to agree.”  
Bucky made a face, “Last time I worked with Jack, my ass landed in jail.”  
“Because he framed you, but we can frame _them_. We’ll take the cash but leave the drugs, or at least most of them. Tie them up or something and send the real law to find them. Sound good?”

“I don’t like this plan, sounds too risky,” Steve wasn’t sold, especially since things had already gone badly before, and now knowing the stakes were so much higher than he’d ever imagined.  
Bucky was at least intrigued though, “With that kind of money we wouldn’t have to worry anymore.”  
“We’re doing okay.” Well, at least sometimes anyway.  
Bucky just snorted, knowing better, “Yeah sure, until you need your meds refilled, or the car needs work, or either of us loses our damn job again. I’m so goddamn tired of this, Steve, always being broke, always struggling. Aren’t you tired?”

Sam leaned in encouragingly, “Come on, man They have no idea I know, it’s a sure thing, they’ll never see it coming.”  
The promise of so much money was awfully tempting, so very tempting, and if it was really as easy as Sam said.... “But this is the last time? Bucky?”  
“Yeah sure, one big hit and I’m out again for good.” They did more shots, all drunk now, “It’s not just about the money either, we’re going to take them down so they can’t fuck any more people over.”

Sam turned toward Steve and saluted him sloppily, “It’s what Captain America would want, justice and all that shit.”  
Steve groaned, “Oh god I’m going to hear that forever now, aren’t I?”  
“Hey your mamma named you Steve Rogers, that’s not on us.”  
“It’s my birthday, buy me more tequila.”  
Sam raised his hand, signaling they needed more, and bought the next round.

Bucky turned to Steve, “I think it’s worth the risk. Are you okay with this?”  
“Not completely, but they do need to be stopped. I definitely agree with that. And I can’t say the money wouldn’t be pretty great too.”  
“Jack may not agree to work with me, he’ll expect me to be mad at him,” Bucky played with an empty shot glass, “And I am, but I guess I can pretend not to be.”  
“Well Rumlow’s going to be running this show himself, so it won’t be up to him,” Sam considered, “And they may think you’ll be easy to set up again if they need a fall guy.”  
“So I’m bait. Wonderful,” he shrugged, “Fuck it, yeah, let’s do this. If they agree to it, count me in.”

“Rumlow’s a huge dick anyway, I never liked him even before he arrested Bucky.”  
“Yeah?” Sam prompted, “Any good stories about that?”  
“Not really, but he always buys exactly the same thing every time he comes in, and never says a word to me. But the whole time he’s in the store, he’s eying me like I’m shit on his shoe,” Steve downed another shot, thinking, “And I’ve heard he never tips his pizza delivery drivers, and once threatened to shoot someone’s dog for shitting in his yard. Don’t know if that’s true though.”  
“Well that sums up his personality pretty well, true or not,” Sam nodded, “Especially the dog part, guy’s a complete asshole.”

Plans made and numbers exchanged, Sam still stayed with them, catching up.  
“I tried to go straight, even went to college for a bit, but why should I bust my ass every day for shit pay when there’s a so much easier way? I made damn good money, back when we were in high school. Got word about an operation back in this area, figured it was time to come back home.”  
“Do your parents still live here?” Steve hadn’t even thought about them in a long time.  
“No, they moved not long after we all graduated, remember?” They nodded, and he continued, “They’re happy where they’re at now, living on the coast. Dad even bought a boat, can you believe that?”

Steve’s mom had died near the end of their senior year, cancer, and Sam knew that of course, so they didn’t bother rehashing it. “Bucky, how’s Becca and your mom?”  
“Becca’s doing good, better than me. She moved north and says she doesn’t miss this area at all,” he paused, “My mom was killed in a plane crash. Guy she was seeing had a private plane, something malfunctioned and they crashed.”  
“Bucky sued the manufacturer and won, they knew there were problems with the planes.”  
“Yeah, I gave the money to Becca to go to move away and go to college.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry! I didn’t hear about that.”  
“Yeah, well. Shit happens, story of my life,” Bucky shrugged, “Becca’s taken care of, that’s all I care about. And I get by.”  
“So you guys still living together, I take it?” Sam changed the subject.  
Steve nodded, “Yeah, it’s a lot easier that way. We help each other.”  
“I’m gonna help you right now by getting you some food, come on,” Bucky stood up, and they did too.

They ordered an assortment from a taco stand down the street, also more water. Sam insisted on paying because it was Steve’s birthday, and they let him.  
They sat on a conveniently open bench nearby, leaning forward to eat so whatever bits that fell out would just land on the ground. Between bites, Sam kept talking.  
A lot of it was about people they’d gone to school with, most of which none of them had seen in years. He’d run into a few since he’d been back, giving what updates he had, but they lived a couple towns over these days and really hadn’t seen anybody themselves.

They veered off into some stories about old teammates and other stuff Steve hadn’t been there for and only heard about, so he just sat back and enjoyed the flow of it all. He was that perfect level of drunk where everything was just good.  
The day had a timeless quality, being away from home and added Sam’s presence blurred the present ands the past together, time in general was fuzzy and soft.  
This was turning out to be a pretty great birthday, as far as birthdays went.

Steve had forgotten just how damn much Sam talked, some days you could hardly shut him up. It wasn’t a bad thing though, he was usually entertaining.  
“Hey you remember that time Steve here stole that magazine?”  
“Yeah,” Bucky snorted, “he got caught right after.”  
“That cop was like, ‘Son, why did you do it?’ and Steve was ‘I made a poor decision and I’m sorry’ and the cop was just ‘Well don’t do it again’ and just let him go.”

Bucky chuckled, Steve rolled his eyes, Sam continued, “Steve could probably straight up murder someone and say he was sorry, and they’d be ‘Just don’t do it again,’ ya know?”  
Steve grinned and pulled out his new knife, pressing the button.  
“Whoa, nice!” Sam pretended to be afraid but his huge grin ruined the effect, “Maybe don’t test my theory, yeah? Where’d you get that?”  
“Bucky bought it for me, you’ll have to ask him.”

Bucky pointed to the shop down the street for Sam, Steve was still playing with the knife again, “ _Steve_.”  
“What? It’s not illegal here.” He held it near his face, turning it so the light danced along the blade.  
“Pretty sure murder is, ” Sam argued.  
“Pretty sure I’m not going to murder you.”

“Oh, you’re only pretty sure?”  
“Like 90% or so, yeah,”  
“Damn Steve, you’re still a little shit, you haven’t changed at all!”  
Steve shrugged that off, “I get in less trouble now, most of the time.”  
“Yeah? Because that sounds like what someone who still gets in all kinds of trouble would say.”

“Most of the time,” Steve repeated.  
Sam looked at Bucky, who also shrugged and agreed, “Most of the time.”  
“Hey, at least I’ve never been arrested.”  
“Neither have I,” Sam had always been lucky like that, so they weren’t really surprised.  
Bucky just flipped them both off.

They grabbed more drinks and stood listening to a band that was playing for a bit, then wandered the streets some more.  
Sam stopped in that store to check out the knives, and did indeed end up buying one.  
Night had fallen, and some fireworks went off nearby, exploding high above them.  
“They’re going to catch something on fire,” Bucky worried. The whole area was too dry.  
“Who cares?” Steve kept looking up, enjoying the short show.

“This reminds me,” Sam began.  
“Oh no,” Steve knew where this was going, and wasn’t wrong.  
“Remember when we stole those fireworks and set them off down in the wash?”  
“And caused a car crash, and started a fire, yeah.”  
“ _Allegedly_ all of that,” Sam corrected.

They’d been in Bucky’s old pickup, they’d taken it because it blended into the landscape pretty well, and parked off the highway in the wash. Turns out you can’t really aim fireworks without the proper setup, and the first big one they launched went right for the road. The explosion, the shrieking of brakes, and the crash that followed...  
They’d jumped in the truck, abandoning what they’d already unloaded, and hauled ass out of there, not even turning the headlights on until they were a distance away, only then getting on the road.  
The remaining fireworks had been stashed in the back of Bucky’s mom’s shed, Steve didn’t remember what might have become of them, only that they never set them off.

The resulting fire, whether from the fireworks or the crash, hadn’t spread far before it was extinguished. And as far as they knew, nobody had been seriously hurt or died. As far as they knew.  
They hadn’t made much effort to confirm that either way.  
Steve had wanted to confess, but they convinced him not to, and nobody had seen them or ever questioned them about it.  
That had been the last time they stole fireworks though.

“Remember that dickhead, Johnston?” Sam was still going, “ How he used to call us the Two and a Half Musketeers?”  
“Because I was so short he called me half a person, yeah.” Steve remembered, “Jokes on him, I never grew. I wonder where he ended up?”  
“San Quentin, last I heard,” Sam informed, then, “What, are you surprised?”  
“Nah, he was always bad news. Worse than us, I mean,” Bucky yawned, it was getting late.

This seemed to remind Sam the check the time, “Oh damn. Well this has been awesome and I’ll call you, but I need to go.”  
They waved goodbye, then Bucky turned to Steve, “Well it’s up to you, find a room soon or head back?” They were more toward the sober end of the scale at this point, either would work.  
“I’d rather head back, Mexico in the morning is depressing,” this place had been a ghost town early, dirty and sad, the one time they’d stayed, “Besides, I’m on night hours, I’m fine to drive.”  
“Whenever you’re ready then.”

They walked around a bit longer, but things were winding down a bit even here, so they started back to where they’d parked.  
“Steve? I hope you had a good birthday.”  
“Yeah it’s been pretty great, thanks. And it was nice seeing Sam again too, if we hadn’t come and run into him we wouldn’t even have known he’s back around.”  
They made it to the car, and headed back to the border.

*****

Days later, Steve was having second thoughts about the whole plan. It had been different, talking about it down in Mexico, but this was real life again.  
Sam had called a few times in the evenings, working out the details with Bucky. They both seemed really confident they could do this, but Steve had concerns. Rumlow was a state trooper but Sitwell was DEA, this was a federal level crime they were going to try to pull off. But on the other hand, corrupt people needed to be stopped, he really did believe that.  
And they really did need the money. It was so easy to dream of the place they’d live, the car they’d get, the paints he could buy...

And besides, Bucky had already been working for them in the past, when they didn’t know how high that particular operation went. So why did knowing now change anything?  
Sam’s complete confidence in the job was also reassuring. Sam was pretty much fucking invincible, he never got busted for anything. They’d be fine.  
Either way, he could at least look forward to not seeing Rumlow’s stupid face on a regular basis for a while.

Jack had been by, apparently accepting that Bucky had no hard feelings toward him. Which was a lie of course, but Bucky had a pretty good poker face.  
Steve was still mad at him for what had happened before, but there was a bigger goal here, this one was the least important of the trio. So he avoided those visits, and limited himself to vivid fantasies where he stabbed that asshole with his new knife in assorted creative ways. It was always in his pocket, a comforting yet dangerous weight.

Seemingly all too soon, the plans were all set, and then the time had come. "So when are you leaving?"  
"Tomorrow, Sam's picking me up."  
Are you leaving before I get off work?"  
"No, after.  
"Okay." It had to all go okay, be okay.

Steve thought of another issue they’d forgotten to consider, “What about your meetings with Peggy?”  
“We should be back by then, I think. If not, tell her I had to go visit my sister.”  
“Why would she believe me?”  
“I’ve told you, she likes you.” He made a face, “You’re just so weirdly likable, I swear it’s creepy.”  
Steve punched him in the arm, “Bucky! Be serious!”

“I am serious. She works with big tough jerks all the time, she has no patience with them. I saw her punch a guy out one day, he was huge, went down like a ton of bricks. Trust me, she likes you.”  
“Great,” he didn’t believe it but it wasn’t with arguing about, “You know how much I hate lying.” He knew he wasn’t especially good at it either.  
“Yeah, sorry. Hopefully this will be quick and you won’t even need to?”  
“Fine,” he gave up, “but you’d better come back this time!”

The next morning, a newer dark green truck pulled up and Sam got out, it looked like he’d been making way better money that Bucky had. He waved, “Hey, ready to go? We’re meeting them and riding with then, cool?”  
“Yeah whatever, “Bucky grabbed his bag and turned to Steve, “Try to stay out of trouble, I’ll be back soon.”  
“You’re the one walking straight into trouble, don’t know why you’re worried about me.”

They’d repeated versions of this most of their lives, it was just a routine, “I’m serious. Watch your back, Steve. Just in case.”  
“Do you really think anyone would come after me, for revenge or whatever?”  
“I don’t know, probably not,” Bucky tossed his bag in the back of the truck and got in, “But just be careful anyway.”  
“I’ll try,” that was all he could really promise.  
They waved goodbye as they drove off, and Steve stood watching until they turned the corner and drove out of sight.

*****

Time passed, soon it had already been two weeks and Steve still hadn’t heard anything from them. He knew they wouldn’t be able to call, but _still_. How much longer was this job going to take? When Bucky had done it before, he was usually back in no more than a week, ten days. But this was supposed to be bigger, so maybe it was just taking longer? He hadn’t thought to ask Sam how long his jobs usually took.  
He’d been watching the news nightly and reading the paper at work, but had seen nothing that even seemed like might be related. Well, no news was good news, right?

He carried his new knife every day, it was grounding somehow. His shorts were generally loose, so nobody could even tell it was in his pocket, and as long as it stayed there he couldn’t get in trouble for it.  
He played with it when at home, feeling the smoothness of the grip, admiring the way the blade reflected any available light.  
A sharp little friend, at the push of a button.

Bucky missed his appointment, of course, and Peggy came to the house to check on him. Steve answered the door.  
“Hi Steve, is Bucky here? He didn’t show up yesterday, and he never missed his appointments.”  
Steve _really_ hated lying, especially to her, but did it anyway because he had no choice, “Oh he didn’t tell you? He had to go visit his sister.”  
“He’s supposed to get permission to leave the county.”  
“I know, he knows, I guess he just forgot?” Steve was trying not to look as guilty as he felt and hopefully succeeding, “I don’t have her number, but I can ask him to call you if he calls me?”  
“Do that.”

Some days time seemed to drag on, and sometimes days slipped by. There was still no word from Bucky or Sam.  
It was a cycle of work, sleep, do what needed done, repeat. The boring and repetitive sameness of it all didn’t help, there were few distractions.  
Every day that passed he started to worry a bit more, even though he knew these things probably took time.  
Three weeks and counting now.

Steve leaned against the counter wrong one night, and jumped as the switchblade shot open in his pocket. It snagged on the pocket lining, so fortunately didn’t fall to the floor or possibly even land in his foot.  
He was lucky, very lucky, that it hadn’t cut him. The last thing he needed was a bill for stitches.  
He’d have to remember to be more careful, he was just distracted a lot of the time, wondering where they were.  
And he’d also have to remember not to put anything in that pocket until he got around to repairing it.  
The knife itself was a strange comfort to him though, even if it was clearly dangerous. He’d started thinking of it as Bucky’s knife, a talisman of sorts.

Steve often tried to draw when business was slow. It was always slow once it crept into the small hours, and normally, in the past, he’d be able to get some good sketches in.  
Now though, he was too distracted. Always wondering where they were, and hating having no way to even check.  
Instead of actual art, he mostly produced useless doodles, when he could draw anything at all.  
It didn’t really matter, nobody was calling to hire him, despite his fliers still posted around town.

The weather stayed hot, but some storms moved through. Business was extra slow those nights, a lot of people around here were reluctant to drive in the rain, having such infrequent experience with it. Where the roads ran across washes some would even stop and turn back, too wary to cross the shallow water.  
The lingering humidity that came with the rain made the air heavier and more oppressive.  
The whole front of the store was glass though, so Steve enjoyed a great view of the lightning show.

Sheriff Fury came in one night, acting friendly. This made Steve very nervous, because the man had never shown any interest in him before, why was he doing so now? The guy was a bit of a local legend, but nobody knew much about him. Like that eyepatch he always wore, there were so many theories about what had happened to that eye, all wilder than the last. It made him look even more intimidating though.  
“How’s it going, Steve?” He tossed a couple candy bars on the counter, “And how’s that buddy of yours?”  
Steve was surprised, both he knew his name, they didn’t wear name tags here, and that he’d mentioned Bucky, “Fine, Officer. That’ll be $1.18, would you like a bag?”

*****

Steve had started detouring past Rumlow’s house on his way to work, but it was always dark. The blinds were always closed, he’d never once ever seen them open, but it was still clear that there was nobody home.  
Of course he knew which house it was, everybody knew, it was impossible to miss with that stupid skull and crossbones flag in the yard. Nobody really knew why he had it but it sure was distinctive.  
Probably a warning, so nobody’d have an excuse if he really did shoot someone’s dog sometime.

That was good though, that it was still dark, or at least Steve hoped it was. If he wasn’t back either then everything must still be going according to plan. He didn’t actually know where Jack lived, so he couldn’t check there.  
Where was Bucky? How much longer would this take?  
He kept driving past Rumlow’s, it became a routine, possibly a bit of an obsession.  
As long as it was dark, he shouldn’t worry too much. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway.

Then he got bad news at work, they were cutting one of his shifts. Somebody else, probably the weekend guy, wanted more night hours.  
This was pay Steve couldn’t afford to lose but there was nothing he could do about it except hope he could make up for it somehow. Getting a second job probably wouldn’t work out, and art just wasn’t paying enough to count.  
Well Bucky would be back soon, he had to be, so all he needed to do was try to hold on a little longer.

On his way home one morning his car started steering heavy, probably low on fluid again. It either had a very slow leak somewhere of just burned a lot of it, he’d never been sure which, but he had to add some every few months or so. He’d buy more that night, but went ahead and popped the hood to make sure that was the problem.  
It was... but he also noticed his belt was pretty cracked. It was old and this climate was hard on them as well, he’d have to get it replaced and soon. An added expense was literally the last thing he needed, but he needed the car more.  
So he took it to the garage that afternoon and got that done, at a reasonable but still uncomfortable cost. One less thing to worry about, one thing to worry about more.

Then Steve got a call on his flier one afternoon, a the lady wanted a room in her house painted. He was ready to refuse, he didn’t do house painting, when she clarified she wanted a mural for her daughter’s room. So he agreed to at least meet with her and discuss it.  
He’d never done a mural before, but depending on what she wanted...  
If he could do it, it should be worth more money.

The next afternoon he met her at her house.  
The room she led him to was small, and the walls painted a flat white. Probably a rental then, those were almost always white, but that was her problem not his. Her request was pretty simple, she just wanted to reproduce a Bambi page from a Little Golden Book, and agreed to front the money for the paints.  
Steve took some measurements and borrowed the book to draw it up. The lady had an air conditioner even, this wouldn’t be a bad job at all.

The requested page didn’t scale to the wall well, so Steve redrew some bits, plants and that sort to stuff, for a better overall effect.  
Once she’d okayed his design, he had to ask her to help him draw some reference marks for a guide. Then, repeatedly checking his reference, he carefully transferred his scaled version to the wall.  
They agreed to him working on it a few hours every afternoon, he’d explained he’d have to account for drying time, and she gave him a partial payment to buy paint.

Steve went with acrylics, they were easier to work with than house paint and came pre-colored. Few of the colors he wanted for details didn’t exist, but he could he mix them himself.  
Painting on this scale was difficult work, slow work. The size made the necessary precision both harder and more forgiving, and he had to sometimes work in awkward positions as he moved around the wall.  
He’d probably greatly underestimated what this should cost, oops? But money was money, and the distraction was almost worth it.

The little girl wanted to help, her mom tried to keep her out of his way but she was just so excited. Steve compromised by painting the edges of some of the lower solid parts and letting her fill in the middles. It would be more special to her if she helped paint it, after all. She took her job very seriously, and only went outside the lines a couple times.  
It took nearly a week, but he finally finished, and got the rest of his pay.  
The family was pleased, and he was proud of how it all turned out. He took some photos. Maybe this would lead to more of these kinds of jobs.

***** 

Sam had always seemed invincible, he never got caught no matter what sort of illegal shit he’d gotten up to. Back then anyway, yes they’d been minors (most of that time) but he’d said he’d still never even been caught, and from what he’d said that trend had continued.  
Bucky had, both back then and of course more recently, but Steve was still counting on Sam’s lucky streak to extend to him as well.  
Sam was always okay, therefore Bucky had to be okay too, they were in this together.  
Wherever they were.

Rent was due, and _still_ no word from them. Steve had enough, thanks to the mural job, but still probably wasn’t going to be able to cover all the utilities. But soon, when they had money, the late fees wouldn’t be a problem and they’d get caught back up.  
Peggy was stopping by the store a lot more often, he was happy to see more of her but also worried that she was keeping tabs on him the way he was watching still Rumlow’s place.  
And then she started bringing food.

Steve was bored, frustrated by his recent failed attempts to draw, and attempting to entertain himself by stacking the various things they sold at the counter when Peggy walked in.  
She grabbed a stool from beside the door and set it by the counter, sitting and plopping down a plastic bag of something that smelled like food. Something that was indeed food, which she unpacked, complete with forks and napkins, “I brought you dinner, I hope you don’t mind.”

It smelled good, but Steve eyed her suspiciously, “Why are you doing this?”  
She shrugged, “I know Bucky’s still out of town and you’re probably lonely, and besides, I enjoy your company.” She pushed a plastic container and fork toward him.  
He didn’t touch it, “You don’t have to feed me, I can take care of myself.”  
“I know,” she smiled, “Okay it’s like this, I always seem to make too much but I hate leftovers so some always goes to waste, and I hate eating alone all the time. Please eat with me.”

Well, if he was actually doing her a favor... Steve accepted the food. It was a relief in a way, feeding himself was taxing his meager resources.  
It became a semi-regular thing, she didn’t show up every night but did eat with him a few times a week. And he did feel a bit less lonely.  
It was difficult as well though, the mixed feelings. Sure he was happy to see her, of course he liked her a lot, but she was still a _cop_. All he could really do was hope she took his nervousness as shyness and not as worry for his friends.

*****

There was a brief mention on the news about a murder, some guy, they apparently didn’t know who did it. The didn’t even show a photo, or give any other information, so how were they even going to find out? That was strange.  
Steve knew bodies unfortunately got dumped in the desert a lot, and assumed that was the case with this one. There were always fliers at the store asking for help identifying someone, usually with a reconstruction drawing of poor quality. In fact, there were three posted right now, to women and a man. So a murder was really nothing too unusual.  
Still, _where were they_?  
Steve started driving past Rumlow’s again in the mornings as well, but there was still no sign of anyone.

The weather stayed hot and dry, there was often lightning in the distance at night but it was just heat lightning.  
Most days the temps were hitting 100 or more, but with no humidity it was bearable as long as there was some air movement, either a fan or a breeze. Fortunately, nights were cooler and reasonably comfortable, and the store had A/C anyway, so Steve’s only real challenge was getting enough sleep after work before the heat made that too uncomfortable.  
When they moved they’d get a place that had at least a swamp cooler, if not an actual A/C unit, that would be pretty great.

*****

Then one morning, there was a light on at Rumlow’s when he passed back by on his detour home. They were back!  
Excited, Steve hurried home, but his house was dark and empty. Confused, he pondered the possibilities. Maybe they were at Sam’s? He found Sam’s number and called that, but there was no answer. Well, maybe they were at Sam’s and asleep?  
Surely he’d hear from them soon. He _had_ to!

Two days later, Steve still hadn’t heard anything at all, and was really concerned now.  
Peggy had stopped by the store again, but she didn’t say anything that might relate to any of that. If Bucky had been arrested she would have told him, he was _pretty sure_ at least.  
And if Bucky had been arrested he would have called.  
The worry was sharp now and too real, eating at him. The stress was affecting his breathing too, he’d had to get a refill on his inhaler, further depleting his potential rent money. Where were they?

It was his (involuntary) extra day off, and Steve was relieved to not have to face anyone. It was increasingly difficult to maintain the facade that everything was fine. He knew he’d been almost rude to Peggy the last time he’d seen her, and felt bad about that, but he was doing all he could just go keep going through the motions.  
She had to have noticed the differences lately, that woman was sharp, but she thankfully never brought it up. He was grateful for that.  
Meanwhile, he continued detouring past Rumlow’s on his way to and from work.

The next day he found a bit in the paper, just a short mention. A deceased man had been positively identified as Jack Rollins, a local. Steve just stared, reading it over and over as if that would make more information would magically appear. So Jack was dead, but Rumlow was home, or at least someone was in his house. Where were Bucky and Sam?  
He couldn’t ask anyone, he had to keep pretending everything was fine, hoping that they were fine.  
Because the alterative was unacceptable, unthinkable.

Steve wondered though, had Rollins maybe been that man on the news? That was weeks ago, there was know way to even guess if it was related. Or did it just take the paper that long to report it? There was no way to know.  
He kept driving by Rumlow’s, he hadn’t actually _seen_ anybody but there was definitely someone home, a human silhouette projected against the closed blinds.  
The waiting was like drowning, and Steve felt very alone.

*****

On his way home from work one morning, Steve accidently ran over a broken bottle in the road. He knew he should have seen it in time, but hadn’t been paying enough attention. Through his open window he could hear the air hissing out, but just hurried to get home before it went completely flat since he was very close. Fortunately he made it.  
Examining the tire, he found the cut. It was on the sidewall, so it couldn’t be patched. And he had no spare, or spare money to buy another tire.  
Yeah, life just kept getting better.  
He kicked the flat tire in frustration.

He could probably make rent this month, he was pretty sure anyway, but they would start shutting off the utilities if he missed another payment, and there just wasn’t enough money! And now he couldn’t even drive. Well he’d save on gas money at least, but would spend more on food since the grocery store was too far away to walk to. And his inhaler was close to empty, he tried to use it as seldom as possible but the stress was really getting to him, he’d needed to get it refilled again.  
It would all be okay when they got back soon, they _had_ to get back soon, he had to keep believing that they would.  
Even if he suspected he was only fooling himself.

Walking to work wasn’t too bad, well actually it really sucked but it was tolerable, everything pretty much cooled off by then. As long as he stayed on the night shift he could manage, or at least until the seasons changed.  
He couldn’t think that far ahead right now.  
He’d gotten another small art job that gave him the rest of the rent, and only even that because he’d spent as little as possible, but the bills were going unpaid again, and now with added late fees. How long before they cut everything off?

Steve had gotten in the habit of walking with his hand in his pocket, touching the knife. Not really for safety reasons, he’d never had any reason to worry in all the time they’d lived here, but because touching it comforted him.  
He wished he could just carry it open in his hand, but knew better, asking for trouble wasn’t a luxury he could afford these days.  
But if anyone _did_ happen to dare mess with him... but that seemed unlikely. He just wanted to strike out, fight something, _do_ something.

“It reminds me of you,” Bucky had told him one day when he’d been playing with the knife at home, not long before he left, “how you were always ready to fight anyone in half a second.”  
Steve could understand that, especially back when they’d been in school. He’d mellowed out a bit in the intervening years, but his temper was still there, just (mostly) far better controlled these days.  
The blue of the handle was close in color to the blue in his tattoo, the blade slim and sharp, dangerous. Steve had decided he liked the comparison.

Eventually he needed to do the laundry, he’d worn and reworn everything as much as he could. The laundromat was close, but still about a mile away. Without a car anymore this would be a lot harder, he’d have to carry his clothes there and back, in the heat.  
But it couldn’t be put off any longer, so Steve gathered it all up and bagged it.  
At least there were clouds today, that was a very small blessing. Hopefully they would stay, or he’d have to walk back home in the sun.

Walking down the road with a garbage bag of laundry slung over his shoulder, the plastic against his back made him sweat a ton even through his shirt.  
His fault, waiting this long, having this much to wash.  
He needed to use his inhaler twice and stop to rest once, but he finally made it. Once he’d gotten the machine started, Steve went onto the bathroom and stuck his head in the sink, letting the water run over the back of his neck and through his hair. Even though the water was merely cool, it still felt wonderful.

Unfortunately, later when it was all finished he still had to walk back home. The clouds had remained at least, but the air was very hot.  
The neighbor on their left had kids, they’d never actually spoken but maybe he should, maybe he could ask to borrow their little wagon next time. Because carrying it all clearly wasn’t working out so well for him.  
Pretty wiped out, Steve made it home. He took a cool shower and a long nap, then got back up and dragged his ass to work. At least it was a lot cooler at that hour.

*****

Sheriff Fury started swinging by late, he patrolled at odd hours, always had. He offered Steve a ride home, which he accepted, and that became a semi-regular thing.  
It was hard for Steve, riding with him, wondering if he knew anything he wasn’t telling, knowing he couldn’t ask.  
He hadn’t seen Rumlow’s house in a couple weeks now, this bothered him, but it was too far our of his way for walking and he could hardly ask Fury to detour.  
He really felt like the sheriff was keeping an eye on him, and not sure if that was good or bad.

Peggy had stopped even asking when Bucky would be back, which Steve simultaneously found both a relief (he hated lying to her) and extremely worrying. Did she know something, or had she just given up? Why did she hang around the store so much?  
Under different circumstances he’d love her company, he still did, but everything was weighing him down far too much to really enjoy it.  
She kept bringing food and sharing it, which he was still grateful for. His budget was hopelessly fucked at this point and anything helped.

Fury brought him home again, but this time he stopped Steve when he went to get out, “I was thinking, I have a couple old tires at my place, should be about the right size. They’re not great but they should hold air, I could bring one and then drop them off at the shop for you. Do you have a jack?”  
Steve considered, being able to drive again would be worth the cost of getting a tire mounted, “Yeah I do. Okay, if you’re sure,” he wasn’t doing this now, “I’ll take it off when I get up later.”  
“Just leave it laying there if you’re not around, I’ll stop by and grab it.”

The next night, Fury picked him up again. “Got your tire in the back. It’s not exactly the right size so it may pull a little, but it’ll get you where you need to go.”  
Steve had intended to pick it up himself, the shop wasn’t far and he could roll it home. But what was done was done, “Thank you,” He reached for his wallet and pulled out $20, he’d had a tire mounted there before and knew the price, and held it out to Fury. “And what do I owe you for the tire?”  
“Tire’s free, saves me disposing of it,” but he took the $20 at least.

*****

Steve hadn’t been awake long when there was a knock at the door, he hurried to answer it. It was Sheriff Fury. This was probably bad, very bad. “Yes?”  
“I’m sorry, son, but I’m going to have to ask you to come with me. We’ve found a couple bodies and I’m hoping you might be able to identify them.”  
It couldn’t be them, could it? Sam had never been arrested but Bucky had, his prints were on file. If they didn’t know, then it couldn’t be him. Maybe Fury was just asking because he worked at the store and saw a lot of people? Hoping as much as he dared, Steve followed him to his car.

The morgue was creepy, and cold. They stopped outside the last door.  
Steve gave up all pretense, “Just tell me, is it Bucky?”  
“I truly don’t know, I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me.”  
“I could give you a photo?”  
“That won’t help, they... There’s no easy way to say this, but there’s no recognizable faces left.”  
“Oh,” Steve swallowed hard.

Fury put a hand on his shoulder, “I want you to prepare yourself, they look bad, real bad. They were out there a while, the graves were very shallow and the animals got at them.”  
“But what about fingerprints?”  
“It wasn’t possible to take any. Coyotes carried off a few bits too.. I’m really sorry I have to ask this of you.”  
Steve braced himself, “I can do this. Let’s go.”

Steve had seen dead animals of course, mostly along the roads. He knew the desert was even harsher on the dead than it was on the living, how quickly bones started showing before whoever was in charge of that removed the various corpses. So he knew this was going to be bad, there was just no way it wouldn’t be.  
Hopefully it wasn’t them? Would he even be able to tell for sure if it was? What if he couldn’t?  
Not knowing would be worse that knowing, or at least that’s what he told himself as they stepped through the door.

The bodies were under sheets, two of them. They didn’t look right, didn’t look at all like the ones in crime shows on tv. Instead of smooth contours they were angular, and the sheet lay flat in places where it shouldn’t, where some parts were simply gone.  
One was missing what looked like most of an arm and a foot, the other both feet and one lower leg. Probably also some smaller bits that weren’t as obvious beneath the sheets.  
Yeah, this was going to be bad.

“Normally we’d show you the faces, but that’s not an option. However, both have some areas of what appears to be tattoo ink that’s still partially visible.” he paused, “Are you ready?”  
Steve nodded, no he wasn’t but he had to do this, and Fury pulled the sheet back on the first one, not far, just enough to expose the area he wanted Steve to examine. This body was face down and ragged but the skin on back was partially intact. There was a towel over the head.  
He knew immediately that this was definitely not Bucky, but it could be Sam. He leaned closer, searching, and could just make out enough rough portions of Sam’s unique falcon. Steve shuddered, “It’s Sam Wilson, sir.”

The other was probably Bucky then, Steve really didn’t want to look but he had to know for sure. Maybe, _just maybe_ , it was somehow Rumlow. But if so, then where was Bucky?  
Fury pulled the sheet back, exposing just the upper chest and shoulders, this one was face up. Someone had wrapped a towel around this head as well, which Steve was grateful for. The left shoulder was partially bone, and this was the side with the lower arm gone, must have been the coyotes Fury mentioned. Steve held his breath and looked closer, Bucky’s ink wasn’t nearly as distinctive as Sam’s and the discoloration and severe damage would make it very hard to spot at all. He didn’t even try looking for the star, that area was gone. But the other shoulder was still mostly intact, and looking closely, he could just make out enough of the little grim reaper. It was Bucky.

Apparently Fury read his expression, because he just nodded and ushered Steve out, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”  
In the car, he found his voice again, “Sir, did you find anyone else?”  
“We have a case that might possibly be related, guy named Jack Rollins died from severe injuries in a hospital not too far from where we found them. I think you might know him?”  
“No,” he lied. He couldn’t talk about all that, and couldn’t ask about Rumlow. It wasn’t over.

*****

Peggy placed her hand over his, “Steve, I’m so sorry. If you need anything, please call me.” Of course she’d heard the news.  
“I’ll be okay.” He had to be, somehow.  
“We’ll find out who did this. If you think of anything that could help...”  
He just shook his head, he couldn’t tell her. Rumlow was a state trooper, he outranked both her and Fury, he’d only be putting them both in danger if he said anything.

It was hard when he was at home too, seeing Bucky’s stuff everywhere and knowing he’d never come back again. And since they worked different shifts, it was tempting to just try to pretend none of it had even happened, but he couldn’t do that.  
He repacked some of it, putting things back into boxes, but somehow that just made it all worse so he stopped.  
He’d deal with it eventually, he’d have to, but not now. Not yet.

Sam he hadn’t seen in years, so while still a shock, his death didn’t carry the same weight. Steve realized he didn’t even know exactly where he lived, he knew which town but that was all, they hadn’t had a chance to visit him. He’d assumed they’d get to all that later, have time to catch up on all the details later, that they’d probably fall back in to hanging out again the way they once had.  
But now that would never happen.  
During the planning, Sam had mostly talked to Bucky on the phone, so Steve had never even heard a lot of the finer details. Now he wished he had.

*****

Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore, instead of going to work he stopped at Rumlow’s house. He’d seen the lights on and someone moving around inside every night, but still hadn’t seen the man himself. Was it even really him in there, or maybe someone else? He had to find out. Anything but sitting alone with his thoughts any longer.  
Steve banged on the door and waited.  
It opened, it was indeed Rumlow, but he’d taken serious damage, his face was a mess of angry healing scars. Steve remembered Fury had said Rollins died from injuries, Bucky and Sam must have made a good fight of it. Rumlow had probably been in a hospital too, somewhere. Unless he’d sewn up his own face, which Steve didn’t completely rule out.

“You killed my friends!”  
Rumlow knew who Steve was, and wasn’t happy to see him, “Yeah I did, but look what they did to me!” He gestured at his fucked up face.  
“I’ll make you pay for this!” He barely held himself in check, knowing that if he physically attacked this man he couldn’t win.  
“What the fuck are gonna do, nobody’d believe you. I’ll just frame you for something too and you won’t be my problem anymore.”  
“YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS!” The control snapped, and Steve shoved him hard in the chest.  
Rumlow barely moved, and narrowed his eyes, looking around to see if any neighbors were observing or in earshot. Then yanked Steve through the door and slammed him against the wall, “You shut up!”

Steve was wheezing a bit now, but that seemed to inspire the bastard pinning him, he smiled maliciously, “Oh right, you’ve got asthma, don’t you? Wouldn’t it just be _so sad_ if you had a really bad attack and died?”  
Steve tried to get free, but he was just no match for him physically, guy was rock solid. Stress and near panic were not helping his breathing, but he didn’t think he was really in trouble there yet, not quite. His inhaler was out in the car, lot of good it him did there.

Rumlow pulled him away from the wall then slammed him down on the couch, straddling him and pressing a pillow over his face.  
Steve punched at him but couldn’t seem to actually really hurt him, couldn’t push him off, couldn’t see, couldn’t _breathe_.  
Flailing desperately now, he managed to land a lucky hit on Rumlow’s damaged face, feeling the hard shapes of teeth under lips, but that only causing him to grunt in pain and push the pillow down harder.  
Steve was running out of time, and fast.

He might not keep his inhaler on him these days, but he always carried Bucky’s knife. He had to do something or he’d die, Steve reached into his pocket and grabbed it. He jammed it against the man’s stomach and pressed the button, yanking upwards with all of his meager strength at the same time.  
Rumlow gave a high strangled scream as his insides became his outsides, rolling to the side and falling on the floor where he curled up, panting shallowly.  
Steve lay where he was, just fighting to even breathe, still stubbornly holding his knife, sticky with Rumlow’s blood. Blood was so, so sticky.

The door burst open, “FBI!”  
Fury ran over, checking Rumlow briefly, then Steve, “Shit, he’s having an asthma attack, where’s his inhaler?”  
Someone patted his pockets.  
Peggy took his hand. Peggy was FBI? Maybe he was imagining this. “Check the car! Steve, can you hear me? Are you hurt? Hang on!”  
Fury was back and Peggy was putting the inhaler in his mouth, pulling the trigger.

Finally able to breathe again, the world crept back into focus. “Dead?” he rasped.  
“You’re not, he is. Are you hurt?”  
He shook his head, “Not my blood. I killed him, arrest me.”  
Peggy looked over at Fury, something unspoken between them, “Did you come here specifically intending to kill him?”  
“No.”  
“Well then it was self defense.”

“We have to arrest you anyway, until we can work it all out. To keep you safe, if for no other reason,” Fury pulled the knife from his grasp, “Son, you know this thing is all kinds of illegal.” He held it up for Peggy to see.  
“I know. Please don’t take it, Bucky gave it to me.”  
“I have to log it as evidence, but I’m sure we can arrange to ‘lose’ it later.”

Peggy helped him up, “Steve, walk with me, we need to put you in the car.”  
“I’m going to do a quick check and seal off the house,” Fury was already heading down the hall, “I’ll be out soon.”  
Steve tried to go to his car, but Peggy steered him to the cop car instead, helping him into the back seat. She got in the front passenger seat and turned to face him, “Give me your keys, I’ll move your car later so it doesn’t go to impound.”  
Steve handed them over wordlessly.

Fury came out and opened Steve’s door, leaning down, “I’ve asked you before but I’m asking you again, maybe you’ll actually tell the truth this time. Do you know anything about all of this?”  
Steve nodded reluctantly, he knew enough, he’d have to talk now. He remembered when they’d come in, had he heard right? “Wait, you’re really FBI? Both of you?”  
“Yeah, undercover and it needs to stay that way, so pretend you don’t know. We know Rumlow wasn’t the leader, but so far we’ve been unable to identify who is.”  
“I know, I mean I think I know. Sam said there’s DEA agent named Sitwell who’s in charge. I don’t know his first name.”

“Jasper Sitwell, that son of a bitch! Well that explains a lot.”  
“They got Jack Rollins, I killed Rumlow, he should the last one. Anyone else is probably just like Bucky, only working for him.”  
“I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but I’m glad you killed him,” Peggy gave the house a disdainful glare.  
“We have to find proof, so we need to keep everything under wraps for a while longer until we can build the case. We’ll need to verify that information is correct. Until then, as far as anyone can know, you’re in jail for killing Rumlow.”

*****

Steve rode in the back of the patrol car, staring unseeingly ahead through the heavy partition that divided him from them, listening as they discuss his fate. He should be at work right now, how had his life become this? At least he didn’t have to worry about his overdue utility bills anymore.  
They’d give him something else to wear, right? He wanted out of these bloody clothes, wanted to wash the blood off, wanted to wash the whole situation off.  
Too bad it didn’t work that way.  
The car was light, then dark, as they passed under the widely spaced street lights.

They were still discussing him.  
“We can’t put him in solitary, that would give us away, but we can’t risk putting him with anyone who might be loyal to them. Who do you know that you think we can trust, somebody who needs a new cellmate?”  
Peggy considered, “Lang’s cellmate got out yesterday and he’s a reasonably decent guy, we’ll put Steve with him.”  
“Lang... Scott Lang? What’s he in for this time? Theft again?” It had always been some level of theft with that one, but never any type of drug charges so he should indeed be safe.  
“Yes, he claims it was an accident this time and I actually believe him,” she shrugged, “But what can you do.”

“So how plausible is our self defense claim, do you think? After all, he went to the man’s house with an illegal weapon,” she sounded worried.  
“The house was full of weapons from what I saw, and a lot of people carry knives. Yes that one’s illegal and that’s a bit of a problem. But Rumlow did try to kill him.”  
“I just hope we can nail Sitwell, this has to end. He would have kept his hands clean, but the money is very dirty, we just have to manage to trace it.” Peggy glanced in the review mirror at Steve, who was slumped now down looking even smaller than he was, studying the blood on his hands.

Fury, thinking, continued, “You know, I bet this here is Rumlow’s knife. Steve sure was lucky he was able to grab it and defend himself.”  
Steve looked up, “It’s my knife, sir.”  
“Did you hear something, Carter? Because I sure didn’t.”  
“No, not a thing,” she agreed, “You’re right, how lucky for him that there was a knife within reach.”  
Steve looked back and forth between them, but gave up even trying to argue. They could choose his fate.

They had arrived at the station. Fury handed a pair of cuffs back, “Put these on, just for show. Hands in front of you,” he either blinked or winked with the eyepatch it was impossible to tell, “You’re under arrest, after all.”  
Weren’t people always cuffed with their hands behind their back? “In front? Won’t they think that’s weird?”  
“I’m not a fool who’s gonna risk trouble by cuffing an asthmatic where he can’t reach his inhaler if he needs it, and I’ll tell that to anybody who questions it.”  
Steve put on the cuffs as directed, and they all got out and made their way inside.

Then Steve had to go through the whole intake process. Fingerprints, mug shot, and finally someone taking his clothes for evidence and letting him shower and put on the provided clothes.  
He did what they wanted with no resistance, but was glad they’d had a regular guard supervise his shower instead of Peggy. He supposed he wouldn’t see her again for a while, since now he was just another prisoner.  
Somebody should call his boss and tell her he wouldn’t be in. Maybe his landlord too. Shit, he was going to lose everything he had left.

Steve was taken to his cell, the lights were all dimmed and most everyone they passed seemed to be asleep. He’d lost all track of the time, but it had to be after midnight at least by now.  
His cellmate was asleep too, loosely curled up on the lower bunk. There was a pillow and a folded blanket on the top bunk, his new bed. Beside the beds and a toilet, the room was bare.  
Steve lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling, knowing he should try to sleep at least a little. He wasn’t on night shift hours anymore. Assisted by how exhausting his evening had ended up turning out, he finally managed to doze off.

*****

Steve woke to someone shaking his foot, “Hey new bunkmate, wake up! It’s time to go to breakfast.” He looked over to find a reasonably friendly looking skinny guy. “Hi, I’m Scott Lang.”  
“Steve Rogers,” he sat up, then dropped to the floor.  
“I know! You’re a legend already, man, people talking about you. They say you killed that bastard Rumlow, pretty much everybody hated him,” he took Steve’s hand and shook it, “I’m a fan, a big fan! And don’t worry, nobody’s gonna fuck with you in here.”

He stuck with Scott as they made their way through the morning routine. Steve was aware of so many eyes on him, the other prisoners watching him, but tried to ignore it. As predicted, nobody messed with him, they just left them alone. That was a relief.  
Prison food wasn’t bad at all.  
Scott seemed okay, friendly, and could easily be prompted to talk so Steve didn’t have to. He had a kid, a little girl, and he clearly really missed her. So they had missing someone in common, though Scott would get to see his again someday soon.

As the days passed, Steve settled into the daily routine surprisingly easily, still mostly sticking with Scott so he didn’t have to think too much. He didn’t have to talk much either, even Scott didn’t really ask him any questions, probably knew he couldn’t say much.  
Jail was actually really boring, he really wished he could at least draw but knew not to ask for special favors, he was supposed to be just a regular prisoner here.  
So he mostly just prompted Scott to tell him stories, about former heists he’d pulled, or his kid, occasionally his ex-wife, whatever really, because silence was harder to deal with.

The curiosity of the others bothered him, he remembered listening to Fury and Peggy in the car that night. What if some of them were Rumlow or Sitwell’s men? What if they were watching, not in admiration, but waiting for their chance? He wasn’t concerned with his own safety, not particularly, but knew this really wasn’t the place to get in a fight.  
His hand kept creeping to his side, reaching for the comfort of Bucky’s knife out of habit, but of course it wasn’t there. He missed it’s smooth weight.  
Would he really get it back, ever?

Shower time sucked, Steve was not a fan of the communal shower situation at all, but being clean was a lot better than the alternative. Slowly, he got used to that too. And it seemed Scott had been right, nobody had really fucked with him no matter where he went.  
They’d all seen his tattoo though, and a lot of them started calling him Captain America. After a few more days he was mostly just Cap.  
There was nothing he could do to stop them so he just accepted it, the nickname was slowly growing on him.

The majority of his time was still spent with Scott, in their shared cell. They got to know each other, since there was largely nothing else to do.  
Scott’s latest arrest was almost funny, he had a long history of thieving and too often getting caught but he’d stopped for his daughter. “Have you ever been holding something and then just sort of forgot? I didn’t mean to steal that, I had a lot on my mind, it was an accident. But with my record, here I am again. I’ll never get partial custody at this rate, I’m just a fuck up.”  
“So what was it?”  
“A stuffed rabbit. It was pretty cute.”

*****

In jail, people talked, but it was impossible for Steve to know how much of the rumor mill was true. He heard stuff about how bad things tended to happen to the families of anyone who talked or anybody close to them, the people Rumlow had arrested. Nobody knew if that was still the case or if they were safe now that he was dead.  
Steve knew it wasn’t over yet.  
He was being held “safe” in jail, but there was one other person who might be in danger, and he had to try to protect her. He told and kept telling any guard he thought would listen that he needed to speak with Officer Carter, that it was really important.

Finally, a few days later, a guard pulled him out of his cell and took him to one of the rooms where Peggy was waiting. She looked both worried and irritated.  
“This better be important, Steve, you know we’re trying to maintain our cover here.”  
“I know, I’m sorry!” He sat down across from her, “I’ve heard things about Rumlow, or I guess maybe it was actually Sitwell, sending someone after people’s families. Is that true?”  
“We’ve never been able to directly connect the dots, and no one has agreed to talk. It’s presumed to be true though, yes. Are you worried about yourself?”

“No,” he probably should be but he really didn’t fucking care, “Bucky’s sister, Becca. Rebecca Barnes. Would they go after her?”  
“Oh,” she sighed, “I should probably have told you, but keeping secrets gets to be a habit. There’s another undercover agent who’s been assigned to watch her. He’s taken a job at her workplace and lives across the way where he can keep track of her as much as necessary.”  
“For how long now?”  
“We assigned him back when Bucky first went off the radar.”

Way back then... so they _had_ known that he was lying all along, “Wait, was someone assigned to watch me too?”  
“Yes,” her guilty expression gave away the rest.  
“Oh.” And he’d dared to believe that she actually liked his company, that just figured, “So you never believed me, that he was at his sister’s?”  
“You’re a terrible liar, Steve.”

“And Sam’s family?” He felt a little guilty he’d almost forgotten to ask about them.  
“Not considered to be currently at risk, if that changes we’ll put someone on them. Be assured that we’re monitoring the situation closely,” She stood, “I really can’t spare any more time right now, sorry. We’ll meet with you when we have more details worked out, but please don’t ask to see me again before then.”  
“Okay. Sorry, I was just really worried about her.”  
“I know, I should have said something to you before.”

*****

A week later, Steve had come to a decision. “Hey Scott, do you know anybody in here who does tattoos?”  
“Yeah, as long as you don’t want anything super fancy. What’d you have in mind?”  
“Just a simple star,” A jail tattoo star like Bucky’s, as a reminder, a memorial. Had there been a funeral yet? Probably, why would they have waited, but he didn’t know. He’d agreed not to aks for Peggy again, so there was also no way to find out.  
The tattoo would be better than nothing, it would have to be enough.

“Man, I wouldn’t dare get a tatt in here. Aren’t you worried about infection?”  
“Scott, right now I really don’t give a fuck.”  
He shrugged that off, “Alright, yeah I know a guy, he does decent work, been in a pretty long time. And I think he at least makes some effort to sterilize his stuff? I’ll introduce you. Honestly I’d _maybe_ consider getting something myself, but I don’t like needles. Probably’d wait til after I got out too, even if I ever decide to actually do it.”

A couple days later, Steve followed Scott to an area he hadn’t been to before.  
One guy looked up and smiled at them when they came in, “Well, well, if it isn’t Captain America! Lang said you’re wanting some new ink.”  
The tattoo artist was a skinny guy, probably around his own age. “Yeah, just the outline of a star on my shoulder.”  
“On your left?” he grinned again at Steve’s surprised look, “I figure it’s for Barnes, that’s where I put his. He was a good guy, shame how that went down.” He patted the bench beside him, “Have a seat and I’ll draw it on first.”

Steve sat, and the guy quickly drew on him with a fine point marker.  
He examined the location as well as he could from that angle, then looked to Scott for his opinion, who just gave a thumbs up.  
“Do it,” he nodded, and the guy went to work, the rig humming as he traced the lines.  
Shoulders hurt a lot less than directly over your spine, pretty much just felt like being scratched by a cat. Slowly.

“Okay, that’s it! Wash it at least daily, don’t scratch, and don’t pick the scabs. You already have a tatt, you probably know the drill.”  
“Yeah,” the itching part was the worst, but this one probably wouldn’t be too bad.  
“And if it suddenly gets red or anything else that looks wrong, get to the infirmary. You should be fine, I’ve never had any of my work get infected, but keep an eye on it anyway.”  
“Thanks. What do I owe you for this?” He probably should have asked ahead of time, but too late now. Hopefully it would be something he could actually get.

“Nope, normal cost does not apply to you, but I’d like to do an art trade. I get some requests that are more than I can draw up, and I’ve heard you have talent.”  
How did he know? Oh right, the guy knew Bucky, and Bucky had probably bragged about his art. “Sure, if they’ll let me have paper and something to draw with,” Some people would be walking around with his art on them forever, that was actually pretty cool.  
“I can get it for you, no problem,” Scott offered.

They weren’t allowed to have stuff in general, but somehow, if Scott wanted something he got it. Either he had weird thief mojo or the guards just really liked him, Steve had no idea how that worked, but he soon had his paper and a charcoal pencil.  
That was actually perfect since it could be sharpened on the floor, and also would transfer directly to the recipient. Mirrored, so any text or dates had to be drawn in reverse, but that wasn’t hard to do.  
It was really good to be drawing again.

Now most days he spent a bit of time with the tattoo guy, sketching up whatever the people who came to him wanted, refining it later.  
He felt a lot better just being able to create something, to do something, and it was quite a heady experience to see his art permanently inked into someone’s skin.  
The process was surprisingly simple, the guy just rubbed the desired location with plain old stick deodorant, then pressed the art into place to transfer it. He’d offered to let Steve try the tattoo rig, an the inmates seemed cool with it, but he preferred just to stick to the designing side.

*****

“So Cap, I’ve been thinking. I know there’s something fishy about your charges,” he saw Steve’s look, and held up a hand to stop him from interrupting, “No don’t tell me, in this case I’m pretty sure I’m better off not knowing. But you’ll probably end up getting out around the time I’m set to. What I’m getting it is, how do you feel about continuing to be roommates?”  
Steve was surprised by the offer, “I don’t have a place anymore.”  
“I do. I mean I will, my friend Luis is gonna get everything all set up for me. He’s got my car too, I told him he could use it til I get out.”

Steve’s most realistic alternative seemed to be living in his car until he could find a job and afford a place, so the offer was certainly worth seriously considering, “Why don’t you live with your friend?”  
“Oh he lives with two other guys already, it’s crowded. Also they smoke a lot of weed, and I can’t risk failing a drug test.” Scott seemed to catch his hesitation, “No need to decide now. Think about it, let me know if you want to. It doesn’t change my plans either way, so no pressure.”  
“But I don’t know how long it’ll take me to even find a job.” 

Scott shrugged, “Eh, you’ll find something. And we wouldn’t have to worry about food! Well, as long as you’re not picky.”  
Steve didn’t understand how free food suddenly factored in, “What do you mean?”  
“I can get my old job at the pizza place back, they’ve already said so. And there’s always a way to bring pizza home.”  
He had no idea how Scott seemed to manage all the things he did from jail, it really shouldn’t be possible, but had given up questioning it. “Okay, I’ll definitely think about it,” and he would.

“But just so we’re clear, it might not be long term? They say I can’t get a new custody hearing for at least another six months, so at least that long, but after that’ll depend on how that goes.”  
“Of course,” he knew Scott’s kid came first, as she should. Even if it were only six months, that would give him plenty of time to find a job and hopefully get his shit back together, so it wasn’t a deterrent.  
“Well it’s all up to you now, Cap. Just let me know one way or the other before one of us gets out. I know I’ve got about two weeks left.”

“No idea what I have left,” he’d gotten no updates yet, “Hey do you think your pizza place would hire me?” It was worth asking.  
Scott considered, “Yeah maybe. Might be a bad idea with your asthma though, lots of cornmeal dust and other stuff. Unless you want to be a driver like me, we’re not in the store too much unless it’s slow. Do you even have a car?”  
“Yeah, someone’s storing it for me. But my car’s not up for that,” Yeah probably a bad idea, that kind of environment was why he’d always avoided taking jobs in kitchens, “Guess I’ll have to think of something else.”

*****

One afternoon Steve had a meeting with both Peggy and Fury, _finally_.  
Yeah he’d only been inside a couple weeks but it felt like a lot longer, and he hoped they were making some kind of progress with this whole mess. A guard led him from his cell to the small room where they waited, seated on one side of a small table. They both wore their usual cop uniforms, so they were obviously still undercover. That was disappointing.  
Fury had a folder in front of him. The table’s legs were bolted to the floor.  
Steve sat across from them, and waited.

Fury jumped right to the point, “Son, you’re not going to have a trial. As far was we’re concerned you killed him in self defense, and we’re not going to waste everyone’s time. We still don’t have enough hard evidence to nail Sitwell, so we’re going to keep you in jail a while longer as a cover, and for your own protection.”  
“But I killed him, shouldn’t there be some sort of punishment?”  
“I think life has punished you enough, and you’re still stuck in jail.”  
Serve shrugged, “Lost my house by now anyway, might as well stay here.”

"Not yet you haven’t,” Peggy interrupted, “Though I’m pretty sure your utilities have all been turned off. I could pick up your things and store your things for you if you’d like."  
"Can you? That'd be great! Not the furniture, it’s all crap anyway, but the boxes? And my art supplies? Some of that stuff's Bucky's, but I want it too."  
"Sure. I’ve got a spare room I don’t use, I'll keep them until you have a place to put them, okay? And I’ve already got your car parked in the back, so I have your keys."  
"Thanks so much, Peggy." So he wouldn’t lose everything after all, that was a relief.

He’d had plenty of time to think about things, and no answers, “How did you just happen to show up when you did that night, were you following me?”  
“No, actually we were watching Rumlow and saw him pull you inside. And yes, we have been keeping tabs on you, but you weren’t talking any more than any of the others ever have.”  
“Others?”  
Peggy explained, “I got myself assigned to all the cases we thought were related to this operation, but nobody would ever talk to me. We assumed they were all protecting their families. Bucky wouldn’t talk either, I guessing to protect you.”

“Bucky even didn’t know,” Steve clarified, “He’d done runs with Jack before, but didn’t know about Rumlow or the other guy until Sam told us about them.”  
“So you did know all along. I assume you’ve kept quiet to protect them, but why didn’t you come to us after we’d found them?” she looked at him sadly, “Did you doubt that we would be able to protect you?”  
“I was protecting both of you! Rumlow was a trooper and Sitwell is DEA, and as far as I knew you were only cops!”  
“Oh Steve,” she sighed, shaking her head.

Fury got a few photos out of the folder and laid them out in front if Steve, “Have you ever seen any of these guys?”  
Steve pointed to the one in the middle, “Him, he comes in the store sometimes but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone. Not sure about the others, if I’ve ever seen them they didn’t stand out. Are they part of this?””  
“We’re pretty sure, but we’re still working on the details. And we will figure it out, it’s just taking some time.”  
“They’re probably like Bucky, if they’re even in this.”  
“I’m aware, but we still need to find a solid money trail to follow.” He put the photos away.

“Don’t worry, we do have some very good leads so it shouldn’t be too much longer, “Peggy tried to reassure him, “We caught the guy he brought in to try to replace Rumlow, he’s not talking yet but he will. Those photos are people we’re pretty sure have worked with him.”  
“What happens after that? What happens to me, when it’s over?” Steve remembered Bucky’s trouble finding places willing to hire him, after his jail time.  
“Once we’ve put him away, you’ll be released and your record will be expunged. Clean slate,” Fury picked up his things, “Well I guess we’re done for today, do you have any questions?”

“I do have a question,” finally he could find out, “Did they bury Bucky yet?”  
“No, we couldn’t release the bodies until all evidence was collected, though we have now. I believe Bucky’s is next week, I’m not sure about Wilson’s.”  
They'd probably decline his request but he had to ask, “Can I go?”  
They exchanged looks, then Fury shrugged, “That can be arranged, as long as Carter goes with you. Prisoners are allowed to attend funerals under guard, after all.”

“Yes, I’ll take you,” she nodded, “Do you have a suit? Or what do you want me to grab for you to wear, when I move your things?”  
“No suit, but Becca wouldn’t expect me to wear one, or Bucky either. There’s some black jeans, only black pair I have, and blue long sleeved button up shirt in the closet, if you can find them,” he shrugged, “if not, just grab whatever, it’ll be fine.”  
“I’m sure I can find them.”

*****

The day of the funeral arrived. Steve let the guard cuff him, hands in front, and walked with him to the exit. The made their way out to where Peggy was waiting to drive him. She was dressed in her cop uniform but the car the was unmarked.  
Without uncuffing him, the guard placed him in the backseat and shut the door, it did have the standard cop car dividing partition.  
Peggy got in and they were on their way.

Not too far out of town she pulled into a roadside rest area, they were the only car there. It was a pretty standard one with a block of restrooms with a couple vending machines outside, and a few concrete picnic tables with tin roofs over them.  
Peggy got out and opened Steve’s door. She took the cuffs off, then retrieved a bag from the trunk, “Here’s your clothes, you can change on the bathroom.”  
“Are you going to watch?” How far were they taking this prisoner thing?  
“No, I’ll just wait here.”

There were some extra clothes on the bag, Steve wasn’t sure why, but he found the ones he’d requested and changed. It felt strange to be in his own clothes again.  
Back out at the car, Peggy tossed his bag in the backseat, “Ride up front with me.”  
Steve got in, and they were back on the road.  
There was nothing to do for the next couple hours but ride and wait.

Steve stared out the window, watching the landscape pass by without even really seeing it, lost in his thoughts. The last trip he’d taken had been on his birthday, only a few months ago but it seemed like a lifetime now. Everything had changed.  
His hand moved to his pocket, irrationally hoping to touch Bucky’s knife, this day had taken on an unsettling dreamlike quality. But of course the knife wasn’t there. He wondered if he’d ever get it back?  
Peggy seemed to sense his mood because she didn’t speak either, they rode in silence.  
Eventually, they arrived.

Steve and Peggy went in, and found the right room. It wasn’t a large room, there were chairs set up in rows and some people milling around. Probably Becca’s friends or coworkers, Steve didn’t spot any familiar faces among them, but he hadn’t expected to.  
At the front was a simple casket, it was closed, of course. The photo on display beside it was Bucky’s senior photo. It was a good one, though his hair had been a lot shorter then.  
There were some random flower arrangements placed around it all, just a few.

Becca immediately came up to Steve and hugged him hard, “I’m so glad you could make it! And I’ve that heard you killed the guy who did this?”  
“Yeah,” he hugged her back.  
“Good,” her voice was cold now, “I hope he suffered.” She glanced toward the casket, “I miss my brother, Steve, so damn much.”  
“Me too, Becca, I miss him every day.”

Peggy was standing by, Steve made introductions, “Becca, this is Officer Peggy Carter, my police escort. Officer Carter, Rebecca Barnes.”  
They shook hands. “Thank you for bringing Steve,” Becca told her, “He’s pretty much the extra brother I never wanted.”  
“Thanks,”Steve muttered, rolling his eyes. They both ignored him.  
“It’s no problem, I know how much Bucky meant to him.”

A blond man came over to them, "Hey you must be Steve, I've heard about you. Clint Barton."  
"Clint works with me, he offered to help with the service."  
Steve sized him up, big guy, but he didn't look particularly intimidating. Could this be the agent he'd heard about? He glanced at Peggy, who gave the tiniest of nods. "Yeah, Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you." They shook hands.  
"Well I just wanted to introduce myself, I'll let you two catch up. Becca, I'm gonna make sure everyone signs the guest book, okay?"  
"That’d be great. Thanks, Clint."

Peggy patted Steve on the shoulder, “I’ll just wait over there out of the way,” And went to stand against the wall.  
Becca was giving him _that_ look, he tried to ignore it, “It was really nice of Officer Carter to offer to bring me today.”  
She snorted, “Steve, you’re not fooling me, do you really think I haven’t heard all about Peggy? And your big crush?”  
_Of course_ Bucky had told her, “She’s just doing her job,” he protested.  
“I don’t think so, and Bucky didn’t either. She likes you.”

A couple more people arrived, greeted Becca, then moved on, leaving them alone again.  
“Becca, I’m really sorry.”  
“I don’t blame you, Steve, but I really hope Sam Wilson rots in hell.”  
She’d always disliked Sam, and blamed him for Bucky’s brief stint as a teenage drug dealer, which... Okay, yes that was pretty much all Sam’s fault, but they’d all been underage so the risk had seemed minimal at the time. Bucky got busted pretty fast, not even by the cops but by his own mother, who put a hard end to that. Sam had never once gotten caught, not the whole time they were in school. 

Steve couldn’t blame Sam, he’d agreed to the job too. Yes Bucky had quit, but that wasn’t the first time, and he would have most likely gotten back in eventually either way. After all, easy money was very hard to pass up when you never have any. But there was no point arguing any of this to Becca, he knew that. “Give me your number? Or give it to Peggy, I guess. I’ll call when I have a phone again and give you mine. I want you to call if you need anything, okay?”  
“Steve, you’re in jail.”  
“I know, but I should be out soon. Hopefully. And I’m serous, call me if you need anything or just want to talk.”

“I think I’m doing much better than you, since I have a good job and I’m not in jail. I should be offering to help you.”  
“I can take care of myself.”  
She rolled her eyes, “Same old Steve, stubborn little punk. But I’m serious, if there’s anything I actually could help you with, call me.” She needed to greet more people, so she hugged him again and headed to the door.

Steve went over to stand with Peggy. He watched Clint, still evaluating him, and wasn’t at all impressed or reassured by what he saw. He whispered to her, “ _Seriously? That guy?_ ”  
“I know,” she almost smiled, “He’s perfect for this job because that’s how everyone sees him, but I assure you that despite all appearances he’s actually quite intelligent, and the most observant person I’ve ever known. He’s also an expert marksman with most any weapon, if that makes you feel better, no harm will come to her on his watch.”  
“Okay, if you say so,” he’d have to take her word for it.

It was time for the ceremony, people found their seats. Steve sat with Becca in the front row, the family section. There was someone, a minister or something, making a speech. Steve didn’t listen, couldn’t concentrate on the words, this random guy couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know anyway. Instead he stared at Bucky’s photo, thinking. Everything had seemed so different back then, so hopeful, the future had been theirs. He remembered feeling so very alive, and free. Even the hard times had seemed good, retrospectively at least, they were out on their own, living life.  
This... This was not how that story was supposed to end.  
No version of the future he’d ever imagined had ended with him facing Bucky’s casket. It felt almost unreal, which seemed to be the theme of the day anyhow.

Steve’s meandering thoughts were interrupted by Becca’s touch on his arm, “Do you want to say anything?”  
He considered, but where to begin, what would he even say? To these strangers who didn’t even know Bucky? No matter what he said or didn’t, nothing changed, so he just shook his head no.  
She got up next and said a few words, but Steve was lost in his own thoughts again and didn’t catch most of it.  
There was no one else to speak, these people were here for Becca, they’d never even met Bucky. Only himself, and Peggy.

Then it was over, and people started to leave. Becca had requested the actual burial to be private, so this was as far as most went.  
“Go say your goodbyes, “ Peggy urged him, “It’s time to go.”  
Steve did, and they hugged again,” Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”  
“Yeah, I need to be alone of this. You understand?” She’d known Steve forever, but still.  
“Okay,” no he didn’t understand, but he’d respect that. He let get go and walked over to Peggy. With a final look back at Bucky’s photo, Steve followed her out the door.

*****

Peggy checked them into a motel for the night. Steve had offered to drive back, at least until they got too close and had to swap out, but she’d insisted. It wasn’t fancy but also not very busy, which was good for keeping a low profile. She got adjoining rooms in the back.  
“This isn’t protocol of course, I’m supposed to keep you in sight or restrained at all times,” she winked, knowing how silly this situation was, “but I don’t consider you to be a flight risk.”  
Of course he wasn’t, this whole thing was a complete farce, “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”

They’d gone through a drive thru on the way, just standard burgers and fries fare, and sat on Peggy’s bed to eat since the motel didn’t provide tables.  
“So, are the stories I’ve heard about you true?” she asked, making conversation.  
“I don’t know, depends on who’s been telling them I guess.”  
“Bucky, he said you used to get in trouble all the time, and start a lot of fights.”

Steve threw a fry at her, which she caught and ate, “I didn’t start them! I just didn’t walk away. Not my fault the world is full of assholes.”  
She laughed, “Well then I guess you really have mellowed out a good bit.”  
“No, not really,” he shrugged, “I just got better at keeping it under control. Get fired enough times and you learn.” His track record still wasn’t all that great, “Well, mostly learn.”

“Did you ever get hurt much?”  
“Nah, Bucky or Sam usually broke it up fast. Usually Bucky. They were on the football team. I did get suspended a couple times though, my mom was really mad.”  
“So he was always watching out for you?” She checked the bag, finding a few stray fries and holding out her hand to Steve.  
He took a couple, “No, it was more like he had some sort of extra sense and just knew when I was going to do something stupid, and would show up. Sometimes he’d try to talk me out of things, but usually I’d just wait until he left and do it anyway.”

They finished their food. Steve got up and threw the trash in the bathroom can, because that seemed to be the only one in the room, then sat back down.  
“Well then I’m surprised you made it this far without being arrested.”  
Steve picked at a loose thread on the bedspread, “Well I was underage and everybody knew my mom was sick a lot, so they mostly just let me slide. The she died, and I turned eighteen, so I had to start trying to be more careful.”

Peggy just listened quietly, letting him talk.  
“Bucky helped a lot. We got a place together after we graduated, and he was always telling me to let things go, to not take everything personally,” Steve paused, “I think he mostly wanted me to stop getting fired and pay my half of the rent. Then, when his mom was killed, Becca lived with us too for about six months before she went off to school.”  
“So she wasn’t kidding when she called you her brother.”  
“I’ve known them my whole life, and a lot of the time either Bucky was at our house or I was at theirs.”

“You were a good friend to them.”  
Steve shook his head, “I should have stopped him.”  
“Could you have? Steve, it's not your fault."  
“Maybe I could have? Probably? I don’t know. But it sounded like easy money, and I just went along with it, I fucking agreed they should do it. So yeah, it feels like it’s at least partly my fault.”

Instead of arguing further, probably knowing it was futile, Peggy stood up, “Steve? They have a hot tub here, why don’t you change and come soak with me.”  
“I don’t have a suit, you didn’t pack me one,” Steve blinked at the abrupt subject change.  
“Sorry, I didn’t know where to look and didn’t want to dig through your things too much. I didn’t have a search warrant, after all,” she smiled at her own joke, “Wear boxers, there’s nobody around to see. Go change!” She motioned for him to go, turning to her own bag.

In his room, Steve considered. The boxers he was wearing were dark and had a button fly, so they should be fine. And it wasn’t like he’d never swam in his underwear before. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, then put on a t-shirt. Jail had made him a lot less self conscious in general but still he wasn’t going to walk around outside in nothing but his underwear. He’d take the shirt off to get in though. He knocked on the adjoining door and went back in when she answered.  
Peggy was wearing an oversized t-shirt over her suit, legs and feet bare, Steve tried to politely keep his eyes above her shoulders. She had a couple towels under her arm.  
Together they walked over to the end where the hot tub was, surrounded by a low wrought iron fence with a missing gate.  
The air was crisp, almost chilly, fall had arrived while he’d been in jail, and being farther north just amplified that. What trees there were had changed colors, surely all the ones they’d passed on the way had as well, but he’d been basically blind to the scenery. Everything seemed a little more clear now.

There really wasn’t anyone around, in fact there weren’t even any other cars on the back side with them. The concrete skirt around the hot tub was a mess of cracks, weeds randomly growing through it, but the hot tub itself looked clean and the rising steam was inviting. There were a few sad plastic lawn chairs scattered around haphazardly, Peggy pulled one closer and put their towels on it. Then she pulled off the t-shirt to reveal a simple black bikini.  
Sinking into the water with a sigh, she tilted her had back and closed her eyes.  
Steve quickly added his shirt to the pile and slipped in as well, across form her.

Instead of staying opposite, she moved over to sit beside him, not touching but close.  
“So, do you treat all your prisoners this way?” Steve asked, partly to be a smartass and partly just to break the silence.  
She smiled at him, “No, you’re special.”  
He snorted dismissively, “I’m the opposite of special.”  
“Well I disagree.”

“But I thought you were always only spending time me because it was your job.”  
“Then you may be surprised to learn that I actually like you and enjoy your company.”  
Could it be true? He wanted it to be, “Bucky always said you liked me, I never really believed him.”  
“Bucky was right,” Peggy leaned over and lightly kissed the star on his shoulder, “You’re a good man, Steve.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone. It hasn’t really seemed _real_ , not all this time. Not even at the morgue, they didn’t look like them anymore. Today made it real.” He moved a couple inches to the right, not to avoid her but to center his back on a jet, sinking lower and letting the water massage him.  
Peggy seemed to understand there was really nothing to be said in response to that, “Not to change the subject, but you’ll be happy to know we’ve got Sitwell. We finally found enough evidence to make his new henchman talk, and he gave us all the leads we needed. And we never could have done it without you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Except kill Rumlow, but he was sure she didn’t mean that.  
“Steve, you gave us Sitwell’s name as the leader. We only knew him as the DEA agent who was cracking down on drug imports, the FBI was sharing information, working with him. Yes, Fury and I were undercover, but we were still getting the same intel from the head office. Three years I worked this case and I could never find anything solid, or get anyone to talk. Now I know why. So yes Steve, we got him because of you.”  
He shook his head, “At least that part of the plan worked.”

“Will you explain?” she promoted gently.  
“To stop them. They were going to double cross them and take the money, tie them up for the real law to find,” he sighed, “ _Clearly_ , things didn’t go as planned.”  
“Well the end is in sight, we’re all ready to go as soon as we get a court date. It’s unusual to try a federal agent in a state court, but since this is where he operated they’re making an exception,” she shrugged, “And then he’ll be moved to DC where he’ll serve out his sentence, and you’ll be released into the wild.”

Steve couldn’t help laughing at her choice of words, “ _Released into the wild_ , really?”  
“It seemed fitting,” she smiled back, “Well as relaxing as this has been, we should probably get out.”  
“Yeah.” The sun was mostly set and they were starting to lose the light. Looking up, some of the brighter stars were already just barely visible. “I’m glad you insisted we do this.”

They got out, each grabbing a towel.  
Peggy toweled off quickly and then wrapped it around her. The ends of her hair had gotten wet, and dripped down he back.  
Steve didn’t bother to put his shirt back on, just dried off a bit and wrapped the towel around his hips. They both just carried their shirts The air was cold now, compared to the warmth they’d just left, the concrete felt sharper under his softened feet as they headed back to the rooms.

Peggy checked out his back where his tatt showed above his towel, “Ah, the infamous tattoo I’ve heard so much about. What made you choose that one?”  
“Honestly? It was my birthday and there was a lot of tequila involved.”  
“But why specifically Captain America? Because you’re named after him?” She wasn’t teasing him, just asking.  
“I’m not. Pretty sure my mom never read a comic book in her life, she just picked the name. But my birthday is July 4th, and I’m blond, so it’s sort of a joke.”

"How so?" She seemed genuinely curious.  
"It's kind of a bad joke. He's this big strong hero, and I'm... well, look at me,” he gestured to body, “I can't put on muscle no matter how hard I try, this is as good as I can ever really hope to get. Back then, I used to think I’d grow someday, or at least eventually turn out average sized, but that never happened.”  
"Steve, there's nothing wrong with the way you look."  
He just made a dismissive sound in response, they were back at the door and went inside.

"Well I happen to like your body just fine. Don't worry,” she reassured him, “I'm not trying to take advantage of you, I know you’ve been through a lot lately."  
"I have no objection at all to you taking advantage of me." Steve instantly regretted his words, "Shit, sorry, probably shouldn't have said that."  
Peggy laughed, “Well I’m glad to know you feel the same.”  
“Yeah. For a long time.”

“Go out with me, Steve.”  
“Have you somehow forgotten the part where I’m in jail for murder?”  
“You dramatic little shit,” she said affectionately, “I mean after the trial, when it’s all over.”  
He was hesitant to agree, no matter how much he wanted to, “You can do whole a lot better than me.”  
“Let me be the judge of that.”

This was a weird conversation to be having while standing around awkwardly in nothing but wet boxers, “I’m going to change.”  
Peggy grabbed her bag, “Me too, come back after and we’ll watch tv or something.”  
She headed for her bathroom and Steve went into his room, closing the door. He hung his boxers over the shower rod and finished drying off, then put on fresh ones, t-shirt, and shorts. She’d thrown another pair of jeans in the bag too, but the room wasn’t cold and shorts would probably be more comfortable. He knocked to warn her, then went back in.

Peggy came out of the bathroom wearing a buttoned flannel shirt over shorts, and they sat on the bed, adjusting the pillows to lean against the headboard. The pillows were on the thin side and it wasn’t the best, so Steve got up and retrieved his from the other room. Two pillows each made a far more comfortable backrest.  
She turned on the tv, which the last patron had left on the pay-per-view porn channel, and started flipping through the regular channels, “Do you care what we watch?”  
“Not at all,” Steve was just happy to spend more time with her. She stopped on some sort of nature documentary that was in progress. 

During a commercial break she nudged his arm, “So you’ll be out very soon, what are your plans?”  
“Scott’s due to get out, he’s got a place lined up, some friend of his handled it. He’s offered me a room if I want it. At least until he can get his kid back anyway, which he said may take a while,” he shrugged, “I don’t know much about child custody hearings.”  
“That sounds like a great offer, do you plan to take him up on it?”  
“Probably, yeah. Having a place to start would be a lot easier than trying to do everything at once by myself. And I already know we get along.”

Peggy sat up, rearranging her pillows a bit and then settling back closer, and linking her arm in his, “Still not taking advantage of you.”  
“Still not objecting,” he took her hand and laced their fingers together, hers was soft and warm.  
“Go out with me, Steve,” she repeated, snuggling a little closer.  
“Yeah, okay.” 

*****

Another two weeks passed, and Sitwell’s trial finally came.  
Steve hadn’t been called to testify, since he’d never been directly involved and therefore really had nothing to contribute. So he waited.  
Only a few days later the word came down, the trial was over. The evidence they’d eventually managed to find against Sitwell had been indisputable, so the entire thing had progressed relatively quickly once it was finally underway.

Peggy had personally stopped by to see him, “It’s over. Give us a couple days to have him transported and then you’re free. Did you decide what you’re going to do?”  
“Yeah, everything’s arranged,” Steve had taken Scott up on his offer, and their plans were all set.  
“Good,” she smiled, “See you in a couple days, Steve.”  
Scott had already gotten out, right on schedule, and they hadn’t given him a new cellmate, so Steve had the cell to himself for a few more days.

*****

Fury himself retrieved Steve from his cell, “Well this is it, your record’s been cleared and you’re a free man again. Sorry we had to keep you locked up so long.”  
Steve just shrugged that off, he understood why it’d had to be, and there was really nothing to say. They stopped at another room, Peggy had dropped off some of his clothes for him, so he changed out of his jail stuff.  
“One more thing,” as promised, Fury handed him his knife back, “Here. Try not to kill anyone else.”  
“I’ll do my best not to, sir,” he put it in his pocket, back where it belonged.  
“Well go on then, your ride’s waiting.”

Outside, Peggy was waiting for him, standing by her car. Since everything Steve currently owned was at her house, it only made sense for her to give him a ride. They got in.  
“How’s it feel for it all to finally be over?”  
Steve considered, “Weird. Unreal. Like maybe this is a dream, or maybe the last few months were.” Free again, record cleared, _almost_ like none if it ever happened.  
She nodded, “That’s pretty common, you’ll adjust.”

They lapsed into silence and he stared out the window. Were new people living in their house now? Probably. How long would he resist driving by, just to look?  
And would he even be able to find a job? Even though his jail time was written off, now he had a gap in his employment history, and he’d gotten fired enough times in the past to make employers hesitant.  
What if no one would hire him?

He’d had about as much of his thoughts as he was willing to deal with. All that was over, things would either work out now or they wouldn’t. But what were Peggy’s plans? “So, the job’s over, are you going to move away now?”  
“No, I think I’ll stick around for a while,” she glanced over at him with a smile, “Besides, you agreed to go out with me.”  
“Yeah, as if I could possibly forget. And I _am_ looking forward to it, just give me a little time to get my shit sorted out first, okay?”  
“Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll give you my number and you call me when you’re ready,” they’d reached the house, “Or if you just want to talk sometime.”

Steve could see his car, partially visible, pulled behind the house with the front end sticking out. I was pretty thoroughly covered in dust, but that happened to anything that stayed in one place too long out here. She parked on the street as so not to block the drive.  
She guessed his thoughts, “Your car should start fine, I drove it some every now and then to keep the battery good for you.”  
They went inside, Peggy’s house was fairly simple and neat. Not fancy, but her furniture matched.

She handed him a sheet of paper from the kitchen counter, "Here, I have Rebecca's number for you, and here’s mine.”  
“Thanks. I don’t know Scott’s number yet or I’d trade.”  
“I have it,” Oh right she was a cop. Fake cop? “But I’ll wait until you’re ready.”  
The went to the spare room. The boxes didn’t even take up the whole wall, this was his life now, an assortment of mismatched boxes. Writing on them, where they’d labeled and then scratched out and relabeled, some in Bucky’s handwriting.

Peggy helped him load the boxes into his car, it took a bit of stacking but everything fit, but even with Bucky’s things he just didn’t have a lot of stuff. Although there’d been some order to it all at their house, everything had gotten mixed together at this point. He’d sort if out later. Steve was happy to see she’d also grabbed his makeshift easel, now he wouldn’t have to build a new one.  
“Thanks for the ride, and the help. And I _will_ call you.”  
“You’d better. And if you forget, I know where you live,” she fake-threatened with a smile.

Steve got in his car and drove to Scott’s house, it felt so strange to be out and driving his own car again. Scott’s place, _their_ place, wasn’t far and was easy to find, he was somewhat familiar with this neighborhood. Steve parked in front of the door for easy unloading, he’d move his car later.  
Should he knock, or just walk in? It was his place now too, but he’d never been here.  
Steve settled for both, giving a quick knock and letting himself in.

“In here!” he found Scott in the kitchen, taking a pizza box out of the fridge, “Hey Cap, want some pizza?”  
Clearly, he was already back to delivery driving, “Maybe later, I wanna get my stuff moved first. So I guess you got your job back? They really don’t care you were in jail?”  
“Nah they don’t care, at least half the people who work there have some kind of record.” He selected a slice and put the box back, eating the pizza cold, “Makes you feel safer about ordering pizza, doesn’t it? Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

It turned out to be the first door off the hall, and Steve was surprise it was furnished. He’d planned to sleep on the floor until he could get a bed, but there was a narrow one under the window, a dresser, and a small desk with a chair. The window had blinds, like the rest of the house.  
“Bathroom’s the next door, there’s extra towels, and I’m the room on the end. Make yourself at home.” Scott finished his pizza slice.  
“This is really great, thanks,” They walked back to the door.

“Want a hand?”  
“Sure. Just pile everything on the floor, I really don’t know what’s where at this point.”  
It didn’t take them long to carry it all in, and Steve started opening boxes, unpacking some things and pushing most around to just get the boxes sorted. He found his art supplies and set that box on the desk.  
It took longer to locate his sketchbooks, he was beginning to think she’d somehow missed them, but finally found them at the bottom of a box, under assorted clothes. He put them on the desk as well.

The boxes he knew were only Bucky’s things he pushed toward the wall for now, but some others were all mixed up since Peggy hadn’t known whose stuff were whose. He left those in the middle to sort out later, and shoved ones that were only his toward the dresser.  
There was a small closet as well, with what looked like a couple handfuls of empty wire hangers when he opened the door to check.  
He’d worry about what to hang later, right now he just wanted to get it all sorted.

Scott sat on the bed, keeping him company and watching as he unpacked. “Can I look?” He gestured to the stack of sketchbooks, respectfully not touching them.  
“Yeah, just try to keep your fingers to the edges.” A lot of it was in soft pencils, easily smudged.  
Scot moved them to the bed beside him and slowly paged through them, making appreciative sounds, sometimes pausing for a longer look at a particular one, “Okay I knew you were good, but damn you’ve really got some range here.”

Of course Scott had seen most of what he’d drawn in jail, but he’d been pretty much only doing tattoo requests and couldn’t make those too complicated.  
“Hey, my friend Luis I've told you about? You’ll meet him sometime soon. Anyway, he owns a comic book store and he mentioned the other day that he was looking to hire someone to help. You know comics?”  
Steve shrugged, “Probably well enough.” Could finding a job really be this easy?  
“‘I’m pretty sure people would pay you to draw stuff for them there too, you’re really good. As long as you don’t mind certain things?”

Certain things? “Like what?”  
Scott shrugged, “I dunno, gay stuff I guess. For example, would you draw Captain America kissing Iron Man? Or even something more R-rated?”  
“If they pay me, I’ll draw whatever the hell they want, I don’t care.” He reconsidered, “But I guess I’d have to check their ID first if they want nudity or porn.”  
“Most of them will probably just want to be drawn with their favorites, I don’t know. Luis’ll be able to tell you more.”

“Wait, did you think I have some problem with gay people?”  
Scott shrugged, “Nah not really, would have surprised me if you did. But I’ve hung around the shop enough to know that some people have _really_ strong opinions about certain characters. I’ve even seen a guy have a breakdown over whatever happened in his newest issue, so I wondered because of your tatt.”  
“Oh. Well I don’t have a problem with it,” he shrugged, “I’m willing to draw whatever they want.”

Scott left, and Steve continued his sorting. He put his clothes away, then started on the mixed boxes, sorting what was his from Bucky’s to start with.  
What to do with it all? The CDs he’d keep of course, he wasn’t really sure whose were even whose anymore since they’d shared them. And what books they’d had. The shirts he could wear, they were a little big on him but that was okay, he’d worn some of them before. Bucky’s jeans and shorts wouldn’t fit him though, so he repacked those separately to deal with later.  
There were a bunch of photos and a few personal effects mixed in, maybe Becca would want some of them?

Later that night, in a real bed, in his own room, Steve was having trouble falling asleep.  
There was a streetlight outside his window, even with the blinds closed it shone through the tiny holes where the slats were stitched together. It was still so much darker and quieter than jail, who knew quiet would be somehow unsettling? He didn’t want to put on music or something that might disturb Scott, so Steve did what he used to and played with his knife.  
The light holes were bright enough to make the blade glint as he turned it, admiring it. He pushed the blade back and deployed it, several times.  
Some people had a security blanket, he had a switchblade.

*****

The next day, Steve called Becca as promised to let her know he was out and give her his new number.  
“Steve! How are you doing?”  
“Pretty good I guess? I’ve moved in with my former cellmate, we get along. And I might even have a job, he’s got a friend who needs someone.”  
“What sort of job?”  
She had every right to be suspicious, “In a comic book store, which _as far as I know_ isn’t any kind of undercover drug operation.”

“And what about _Peggy_?”  
“You were right, okay? She does like me, fuck if I know why, and yeah we’re gonna go out. Not yet, but we will.”  
“I told you!”  
“You did, why do I even try to argue with a Barnes?” he changed the subject, “So, anything new with you?”  
“No. Well Clint, the guy who helped with the funeral? He got a better offer and left, I think he was too smart for that job anyway. The new guy’s not as good.”

It was _really_ over, if her agent had been reassigned. Good. “Hey, I have Bucky’s stuff, is there anything you want? Shirts or whatever? And some photos.”  
“No... keep the clothes or give them away, I guess. Hold onto the photos, I probably want some but that can wait,” she paused, “Are you really doing okay, Steve?”  
“As okay as I can be. And Becca? Call me if you need anything.”  
“And you call _me_ if you need anything. It was good to hear from you.”

Since he was going to be meeting Scott’s friend later, Steve sketched up a few superheros to show what he could do. The desk was a little on the small side, but he could make it work.  
The availability of free pizza was pretty great, and he didn’t even feel guilty because Scott wasn’t paying for it, it was just free food. And since he didn’t have a job yet he couldn’t exactly contribute anyway.  
If this potential job fell through he’d spend tomorrow putting in applications anywhere that might even considering hiring him.

Later, not long after Scott got home from work, Luis arrived, letting himself in and coming into the living room to join them where they sat. Seemed a friendly guy, maybe a bit over the top, “Scotty! I haven’t seen you in three whole days!” he turned to Steve, “So you’re Captain America, I’ve heard about you.”  
“And I’ve heard about you. I’m Steve,” he shrugged, “Or Cap, as Scott calls me, either is fine.”  
“You didn’t see me the whole time I was in jail, you’ll live,” Scott pushed the pizza box toward him, “Here, this one’s still warm.”  
Luis grabbed a couple slices as they continued eating.

When they were done, Scott put the rest in the fridge and came back, “So, Cap here is a really good artist.”  
“Oh yeah really? Like what kind?”  
“Show him what you’ve got,” At Scott’s prompting Steve brought out some of his sketchbooks and his new drawings from earlier.  
“Oh man, these are fucking great! I mean really great!”  
“Thanks,” did he just like the art of was he getting a job out of this?

“One time there was this chick, she was like always quoting Wonder Woman, she came in one day with a rope, yeah? Tried to tell me she actually was Wonder Woman and it was her lasso of truth but it was just an old rope, she looked kinda like my 2nd grade teacher except with bigger tits and a lot more crazy, but hot, so hot. Anyway so we ended up in the back room and she tied me to a chair and started sucking on my toes, I mean who does that? And I kept thinking ‘this chick thinks she’s Wonder Woman but she’s wearing old sweatpants, and they have a stain that looks like a duck’ but her weird foot fetish isn’t my thing so I told her ‘There’s other things you could suck’ and she said ‘You can only tell the truth’ so I said ‘Okay, well I haven’t washed my feet in three days.’ And she sort of reminded me of a puppy my cousin had, it used to always lick my feet but then it got sick and died, not from my feet though.”

Very confused, what the fuck did any of that have to do with anything, Steve looked at Scott who just shrugged, apparently this was normal?  
And also, Luis wasn’t done yet, “But then after, that was kinda over after I told here that, she unties me and starts talking about this picture she wants, about how Wonder Woman, but it’s her, is standing on cliff at sunset and she’s got a sword and the light’s reflecting off it and it’s all super colorful. So I was ‘Yeah that sounds awesome’ and she goes on about how there’s blood like she just killed her enemy and threw him off the cliff, so I was ‘Yeah? So there’s blood blood splattered everywhere?’ and she was ‘Yeah, so can you draw me that?’ and I was just ‘I can’t draw’ and then she hit me with her rope.”

Well at least Steve had learned that at least some people did indeed want art, that was encouraging, “So, Scott tells me you’re hiring?”  
“Okay yeah I can give you a job, you’re talented and Scotty likes, you that’s good enough for me. But see, I can’t give you a lot of hours right off, but if I can put these up as examples I’m sure we can get you enough commissions to make up for it, people are always asking for stuff they want drawn. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, but then sighed “Look, I want to be honest here, I don’t have the best track record with customer service positions. What if I lose you a customer?”  
“What do you do? Because I had this one guy, every night he’d get naked and hump the merch, like I used to have this mannequin with one of those Princess Leia bikinis, got that on camera-“  
“I’ve been fired several times,” Steve cut him off before he could really get gong again, “Some people are just bullies or asshoes, I really try not to say anything, but it sort of just happens sometimes.”  
“Hey no, that’s cool, Luis shrugged, “If they’re being assholes, fucking go off, man. Just throw them out, I don’t want that kind of bullshit in my store anyway.”

They hung out a while longer, and worked out the details. Steve gave Luis the superhero drawings and a few others he was willing to part with, he’d photograph some of his more complex work later. Maybe he should make an album for people to look through, that would be a good idea.  
“So, can you start Thursday? But you can stop by anytime, check the place out.”  
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Steve knew where the store was, but had never really been inside, “And thanks for the job.”

*****

Steve had a place to live, with a roommate he got along well with.  
And a job, along with very real opportunity to make regular money off his art for the first time ever.  
He’d be able to take Peggy out on an actual date. Steve wanted to wait until he actually got paid, but he planned call her before then anyway, just to hear her voice, just to talk.  
He still missed Bucky and always would, but life went on.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers- [Switchblade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2S7gO_MB_h4), no need to listen, just linking for the curious.  
> 1\. The knife would be legal now because laws have changed, but wasn’t back then.  
> 2\. They weren’t called tramp stamps yet, and not really considered a gendered location. I know lots of dudes with old lower back ink.  
> 3\. Yes Peggy’s American here, sorry. It just doesn’t make sense for her to be otherwise.


End file.
